


cement dust

by stray_space



Series: Stars, Moons, Dust. [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Gang AU, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jun is a Major Character, M/M, Mentions of Violence, there is absolutely nothing happy about this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stray_space/pseuds/stray_space
Summary: When Kim Mingyu was twenty, he came to the Xu family with one single purpose: to take revenge. When Kim Mingyu is twenty-four, he had succeeded and in his hands was everything he had ever wanted, but Xu Minghao had turned everything upside down since the very first day.(Betad by @catprints without them this wont even be readable)





	1. Chapter 1

The thing is, Mingyu always arrives back to the silhoutte of Minghao, legs thrown over the tip of the bedroom balcony, barely hanging off the ground. It almost gives off the illusion that Minghao, as balanced and lithe as a cat, would simply leap and close the distance between himself and the grass of the Kim mansion, then stroll away, as free as a sailing bird.

And then maybe Minghao’s lips, chapped but rosy, would curl and his eyes would twinkle under the moon as he grinned up at chasing Mingyu, all the while dusting off his pants and running fingers through windswept hair, with the grace and playfulness which defines the very essence of Xu Minghao, which makes Mingyu as lovestruck as a high school girl.

 

But in reality, the lie to such wistful illusion cuffs around Minghao’s ankle, metal cold against skin, chaining him to the confines of the bedroom. A prisoner in Mingyu’s home, to soft silk and rich wood and bright crystal chandeliers that Mingyu just knows the other can’t wait to break yet can’t afford to do so.

(It hasn’t always been like this.)  
.  
.  
.  
/  
20.  
Mingyu was once selfless. He knew he was selfless because his family said the mission was suicide, he knew he was selfless as Seokmin (the one friend he made since before they even gained awareness of the world of blood and fire that tied together their families) tried to hurriedly wipe away shedded tears that had stained all over Mingyu’s ceremonial suit. He knew he was selfless because he heard whispered praises and felt the tightened hands around his shoulders and even lighter mumbles of “Remember we will do our best to pull you out whenever you want.”

An infiltration mission to the ranks of the Xu gang that has taken reigns of the area when Mingyu’s and Seokmin’s had been down: As a Kim who needs and must restore his own family’s legacy, the task was simple - blend in and dig around for dirt and when the time is right, burn that entire empire down. A selfless, maybe suicide mission, done for the rebirth and pride of his family, the ultimate servitude as the future second-in-command.

But when twenty years old Kim Mingyu arrived at the steps of the Xu household and took a peek of the Xu young master’s smirk and turf of hair, and there was something that just clicked, and Mingyu wondered if he had really been selfless for the entirety of the ride.

 

21.  
“Mingyu?” Jun questioned, his pretty lips pulling up to form a mock perplexed expression.

“Yeah?” Mingyu snapped out of his recollection and quickly adjusted his mark.

“Is Minghao that pretty?” Jun sing-songed, his voice nudging and high-pitched, meant to annoy.

Mingyu let out a snort and glanced back at the young master. Minghao was indeed pretty, in leather with soft black locks falling over sharp doely eyes and long fingers that kept on dragging lines over a hidden knife and a smile that shines but could and would kill.

“As if I care about whether my direct employer is pleasant to the eyes.” Another snort.  
(Technically lying, but better get Jun off his case because once the guy started, it would be pure hecking annoying. And that’s rich coming from the guy who had endured Seokmin’s loudspeaker tendencies for the entire early part of his life.)

More like an asshole, thought Mingyu when doe-eyed Minghao turned and waved in the exact direction of where Jun and Mingyu were stationed.  
(No, you don’t fucking give away the location of your sniper guards who are trying to protect your damn life when in the enemy zone, fucking over-confident young master with eyes of damn hawks.)

(Xu Minghao was an asshole, Mingyu decided then and there. A pretty asshole.)

“Even I acknowledge his prettiness, guy’s practically a fairy you know.” Jun, seeming to not mind Minghao’s action, nodded knowingly like he had read Mingyu’s mind.

“That’s your cousin.” And he gave Jun a shove that was meant to shut the other up.  
(A pretty fairy with armor and blood on his garments many times too often? Alright. Mingyu can deal with that picture. He would use that imagery later. For references.)  
/  
.  
.  
.  
0.  
Minghao never asks why. In fact, he never asks anything, never speaks anything, unless Mingyu is forcing him down all over again and placing kisses all over the other’s body and croaks out soundless moans. On the fairy ears, pointy at the tips, now bare of the dangling earrings that Minghao used to wear once upon a time. On the tilt of doe eyes that used to turn to cresents of the moon to show faint joy, so pretty a younger Mingyu used to gawk over (not that he doesn’t now). On the pretty thin lips and into the soft unmoving tongue that used to kiss Mingyu senseless and used to draw out all the oxygen in Mingyu’s lungs. A pretty fairy with armor and used to be stained with blood who would pull Mingyu down and then they would both willingly drown in the heat of the moment and in fervor and the rest of the world could just burn.  
Past tense. Minghao is still Mingyu’s fairy, pretty and ethereal all the same, just that there is no fervor and no passion and instead of sucking out air he sucks out Mingyu’s soul instead with his pretty lips and lanky fingers and lifeless eyes. But Mingyu never minds, not when it is Minghao, because he has Minghao now and it is okay, if he can ignore the shedded clothes being stuck on the metal chain at the cuffs of Minghao’s feet, if he can ignore the chains that tie down the passion once in Minghao’s eyes.

As long as Minghao is here, all would be okay.

(Even if there is only pantings and no sweet murmurs of endearments, even if it is only Mingyu calling the other’s name between muffles of breaths and brushes of skin.)

 

21.  
Mingyu met Jun (or in full, Wen Junhui, Moon Junhwi, FeiFei, depending on what alias the guy wants to go by) at twenty one years old on doing an odd job on the streets, when he was still in the lowest eye of the chain. His impression? Jun was an egnima. As in, the guy was plain weird. Weird in that he had said “Hello” to Mingyu first in a suit drenched with blood and gun powder in an alleyway and proceeded to wink and whistle on how hot Mingyu was. Weird in that he would pass by then and now to stare (and by that, Mingyu meant, just plain staring) when Mingyu did dirty jobs and slowly climbed up the ranks under the claim of “just keeping track of the newly-recuited”, spoken in the cheeriest tone.

Jun admitted to staring because Mingyu was hot. And the sole thing on Mingyu’s mind was: just what the hell was wrong with this guy?

Jun at that time just wiggled his brows and then went on and choked on his own laughter because, Mingyu, have you seen your own ridiculous face?  
.

22.  
The Lee household (Mingyu’s and Seokmin’s) barely crawled up the ladder after quite a gruelsome year, and it was the first time since the start of the inflitration that they saw each other again. (Sure, they kept in contact, under smuggled encripted messages and codes and traces left behind to make sure nothing was detectable. Just simple reports of “new allies to Xu”, “chances in West wing”, “avoid the High Street tonight”, never anything personal since it was not worth risking). And yet even with all the rebirth and newly-gained men and power and wealth, there was nothing beating the Xu empire and so instead of confrontation, it was alliance for some shipments Mingyu never got, with a rate so rigged he could feel Seokmin struggling to keep up the corners of his mouth.

“Time hasn’t come.” Mingyu mouthed, in the secret code only him and Seokmin could have known. And Seokmin just deflated and nodded and forced down the fire until perhaps the day they would be the one at the top like it used to be before (before Mingyu’s family was murdered, the screaming echoing through the night and Seokmin’s parents pick him up and raise him, the kind of makeshift family that still never quite sits in his mind).

The discussion was long and lengthy and somehow the Xu elders decided that it was time for Minghao to handle the entire deal. Followed was (of course) the discussion on who would come along to guarantee the safety of the precious heir to the empire, and Mingyu could just recite the familiar names of Minghao’s inner circle already: Jisoo the genius and Hansol who handles the machines and gears and maybe this time they will bring along that Wonwoo guy since-

“I want to take Jun and Mingyu.” – were the words that rolled off Minghao’s mouth instead.

Mingyu just stared at the heir, incredulous and doubtful. (For what? They haven’t even conversed before.)

Jun gave a half-hearted shrug.  
“Okay. Sure.” – and he calmly said, in the midst of all chaos.

There were protests, of course, and the elders even needed some minutes to discuss and asked Minghao many many more times. They gave in, eventually, as Xu Minghao was not named the heir for nothing, (always standing on the higher grounds, and persuade and trick the world into falling under his hands) and Jun and Mingyu were to be named Minghao’s escorts for the entire deal.

While Mingyu did climb up the ranks and gain quite the amount of trust along his entire career, this was just strange, and he wondered if Minghao had known when he mouthed at Seokmin and tried to used this as a leverage to expose his covers once and for all. Why? The question lingered in his mind, even when the meeting was dismissed and Seokmin went without looking back, even when Jun smiled at him and went all cheesy with: “finally our destined mission together!”. Even when Minghao, in all his might and glory offered his hand to shake and whispered carefully crafted words “I hope we will work well together and you will show the best performance, Kim Mingyu.”

(He maybe very well damned.)  
.  
.

Turns out it was much much more simple than that, Mingyu learned when they were alone in the hotel room that was positioned for Minghao, carefully watching and checking his surroundings for any spy cams and appointed snipers.

“Are you fucking my cousin?” Minghao just asked, out of the blue, in the most casual tone, fingers drifting away on his personal encripted phone like this was the most usual topic in the world.

(What the fuck, Mingyu thought, why would I fuck Jun of all people? Clarifications already storming up in his head.)

He sputtered instead.

 

/

0.  
In the first times following that day, Mingyu would arrive to the sight of Minghao being destructive to himself. Sometimes there was blood, dripping from pale wrists that stained all over white satin, sometimes there was purple blooming all over the skin around Minghao’s temple, like it had been banged against a hard surface over and over again. Sometimes there were scratches all over the fair skin of Minghao’s cheeks and neck and blood-stained lips and his nails were almost falling off with reckless scratching and more left-over scars. And sometimes Mingyu would arrive to an unmoving Minghao, soundless and looking like he had shredded the last of his sanity because he has been gagged and tied to keep himself from biting down on his own tongue and ripping apart his already stained bandages.

It was fine, Minghao was just being stubborn. That is one of his trademarks that Mingyu loves afterall.

(Minghao was just being stubborn on not forgiving Mingyu for killing Jun.)

 

22.

“So, Minghao thinks that you, and me, are doing the deeds?” Jun giggled in sweet sweet delight like the entire fiasco of his cousin thinking that he was fucking an underling is the most common thing in the world.

Mingyu didn’t even have the chance to start talking before Jun just bursted into laughter again.

 

“So what did you say?”, asked Jun after a while, still in mid-laughter.  
.  
.  
/

“I’m sorry but what the fuck?”  
(If Minghao did not see Mingyu choked on his own spit upon spluttering that, then that sure did not happen.)

“I mean, you and Junhui have been dicking around? Getting handsy in the closet during missions? Staring like you were lovers on the battlefields? Maybe even as far as making lov---“ Minghao went on, clearly with a teasing note at a reddening Mingyu.

(What an asshole.)

“WE ARE NOT.” The loudest interruption and oh god did he just lost all of his composure in front of the heir of the Xu empire over the accusation of literally fucking the guy’s cousin.

Minghao just, giggled at the outburst. (His giggles were soft and mellow in a way that was extremely unfitting of an underworld heir, but the most important thing is that Xu Minghao was giggling like a child right in front of his naked eyes and Mingyu is convinced that this entire talk had been an illusion all along.) 

“Damn, so you are not. Was gonna talk to you about all of Jun’s bedroom kinks.”  
Unnecessary input. Minghao dragged on, putting down his phone and looked at Mingyu, who really was at a loss for words because what the hell—

“But, listen to me because I am going to be serious.” Minghao had used the tone whenever he commanded, the tone that urges the men of Xu to respect and follow him even at the tender age of 22.

“Jun may not act like it, but he is pretty much my brother. And we take care of our own kind. Sure, he is a total flirt but he is a good person who is not meant to be a casual fuck around or your ladder to climb up to the officials, get it?”

Mingyu gulped. (Well, as good a person as life in this world allows them to.)

“So do not plan on using Jun. If I find out you hurt him in anyway, then you are paying tenfold of whatever collateral damage that you dare on causing. And I will make sure you regret it.”

That was ... cute, actually, who knew the Xu heir had a soft side for his pseudo-brother and cared about him with every fiber of his being? But Mingyu, even with all his curiosity begging to dig out the softness of the rigid and strict heir, knew his borders, and that he really should not be messing around.

“We really are not. You can ask Jun.” That should be enough for clarification.

“Oh, you are not for real and unlike the pretty boys that tried but scampered away with tails between their legs after one tiny spook huh? Cool. I have soiled my hand way too much taking care of Junhui because he hadn’t grown in mentality since he was five.”

So this had indeed happened various times before, and it seems that there is no such thing as a good fate to befall the offenders, Mingyu noted so that the family can cease to send people after Jun (they seriously cannot afford to lose more people.)

“Now that you are really not fucking my cousin. How about you do it with me instead?”

(What the fuck.)

“I was joking, of course. What, you actually considered it?”

What Mingyu said: You gave me a heart attack, young master.  
What Mingyu thought: Xu Minghao is indeed, an unbearable asshole.

And that asshole even laughed at his face again. (Well, figures since he and Jun are related after all.)  
But god, Mingyu would be lying if he said the giggling wasn’t a little bit cute. (The fuck is wrong with you, Kim Mingyu.)  
/  
.

Couples of days into the deal and everything so far had gone well: There was no fire being shot, Minghao was being suave the way he had been his entire life, walking out of barred containers with armed men to settle drug trades in Chanel suits and Hermes shoes. He was nothing but in his element, eyebrows sometimes knitting and thin long fingers tapping away whenever he found details to zone into. Amidst all the dealings and knocking sense to their traders, sometimes Mingyu would find himself with Jun, trailing behind Minghao’s tracks for security reasons, not that Minghao could not defend himself. Heck, he could even knock out Mingyu on a good day despite being two times smaller, but he didn’t like to get his hands dirtied for trivial jobs and what was of use of his two bodyguards anyways if he did not act like a damsel in distress from time to time?

And that was what makes Minghao scary, since he carried the looks of a gentlemen but also that of a ruthless gangster, since he was a nice brother petting passing by puppies and getting children to smile but at the same time there were two guns around his waist and a knife hidden in the hilt of his shoes. Xu Minghao was all doe eyed and soft-spoken and could play a harmless damsel until all of a sudden he got a gun at the base of your head and spoke sharply unlike before and click clack bang, blood was spilled, hesitation be damned.

Not that the whole world knew that the heir of Xu was not a spoiled brat. They set out traps sometimes, useless honey pots and planned assassins that were said to be put down by whichever bodyguards Minghao hand-picked that day, a way of spilling around his daddy’s dirty riches (not that the rumors were ever confirmed because none of them were ever to be seen again). But still, Minghao knew and acted the part of a spoiled brat just for flaunt, donning high-end suits and leather shoes and smelling like smoke and coffee laced with women’s perfume, he was seen at clubs dancing away til dawn, seen docking hands around pretty boys and ladies and seen in heads of various colors and flaunting accessories which costs were in the millions. He exuded arrogance at the world but softness towards animals, playing into the perfect image of an useless unloved heir which could not be any further from the truth.

That day where Jun and Mingyu were assigned the honored bodyguards was no exception, and of course their traders would seek further benefits aside the meager hand Minghao had dealt them, and what else was of a higher scandal than sweeping away the spoiled son for cheap ransoms and heavy pockets? (Mingyu sighed, all the years in this side of the world and there were still serious stupidity, how in the world did they even manage to survive this long?)

He was prepared to step in when some guys cornered Minghao in an alleyway (an alleyway Minghao had purposedly walked into just because he could, mind you not), guns all out and about and legs stretched to kick down some wanna-be hooligans before Jun held him down by dragging the back of his collar and smiled.

“Just wait.” Jun had said, ever in that unreadable tone like he knew everything and everyone which honestly, crept Mingyu out.

Jun was right (and when was he not anyways, except for his decision to pay attention to Mingyu, which would eventually bring the downfall to the entire Xu gang given that Mingyu succeeds, but that, Jun brought upon himself). Minghao could handle himself pretty well, if not too well, he did not just knock out the guys with years in training of martial arts, but managed to sweet talk them into leading Minghao (and Jun and Mingyu) to their base and let the two of them wreck the place inside out and upside down, all the while managing to call in their nearby branch to rampage the entire stock the offenders got in their dirty storage.

And when they were almost done Mingyu saw Minghao, standing by the chaos that he himself allowed and directed with the calmest composure and barely a speck of dust on his jacket, his smile all slick and seductive and Mingyu had to take a moment to wonder because how could someone looked so right when doing the wrong?

Then he saw a glint at the corners of his eyes and barely heard the shooting of a gun and from the direction the bullet was aimed at and, ugh, Mingyu had to do this did he not. So rush he did, Mingyu ran and leaped and shoved Xu Minghao down to the ground, a bullet grazed through his sleeves and he could hear Jun shooting the gunner down. So much for playing a hero.

“I could have handled myself, you know.” Minghao said from beneath him, not the least bothered from being the target of a gun. “You know I am wearing a vest.”

“Yeah, but it was gonna hit your Chanel necklace charm. Figures you didn’t have the time to replace that.” Mingyu shrugged while getting off the ground, brushing down his dirtied pants. (That was a charm that Minghao were playing with, and observations had shown that he wore it the most often out of all the expensive accessories he had, even though it was neither rare nor collectible, and this was a gamble Mingyu had decided to take.)

“You tried to save the necklace, and not me?” Minghao asked, his head tilting and barely, just barely Mingyu could deduct a bit of confusion and amusement.

“Ohhh!” Jun had shown up from behind, having been done with the shooter. “That was Minghao’s favorite gift from Hoshi himself~ Minghao looks like that but he must be feeling tremendously grateful so take the honor, Kim Mingyu!” (Hoshi was Minghao’s teacher, Mingyu later learned, the one responsible for all the battle skills Minghao had garnered, the one who taught Minghao to charm, the one that got the full weight of Minghao’s respect before he whisked away and never to be found again.)

“Shut up.” Minghao grumbled and walked away, yet not denying and Mingyu knew, the gamble had paid off.

But then he stopped for a few second after securing the charm and turned around at Mingyu.

“How did you know it was Chanel?”  
///

Turned out even with worlds between, there were things that they had in common. (With time, Mingyu found, there were a lot more things). Things like fashion and art and wine collecting and photography, pretentious things that matched up the image of a spoiled rich son which turned out Minghao actually enjoyed. And that was the start of Minghao and Mingyu.

(Since then it was Mingyu and Minghao, partners in crime, soulmates, best friends and confidants, got each other’s back covered and pinkies entwined -------

Was that what you expected? A shame but never could it be that easy. After all, their world from day one had taught them to not give away trust easily, and so Minghao and Mingyu it was, partners in crime and other recreational activities, nothing less, nothing more. Minghao didn’t even let Mingyu in for strategic meetings or let him show his face at social events. Baby steps, Mingyu would like to say about the slow and painstaking progression.

Well, until they started kissing, but that was a story for another time.)

.

Of course the Lee (and by connection, the Kim), did not pull any tricks this time, and the deal got off without a hitch, so both households were somewhat satisfied with the end result (though somewhat might be a bit of a stretch since Mingyu knew the knit in Seokmin’s eyebrows and the fabricated smile on Jeonghan’s pretty face – who was then practically Seokmin’s right hand man, though Mingyu had doubts on him calling the entire operation because Jeonghan could be scary like that). Still not the time, sadly, so Seokmin still walked away after expressing his utmost gratitude and willingness to be allies again, Mingyu inwardly cringed and he knew he kept a perfect straight face, so it came as a surprise when he found Jun staring in his direction, and cursed at himself.

“You look hot all distracted, Mingyu.” Jun slipped an off-handed comment, still with his playful tone and usual composure, and Mingyu wondered if there was something Jun had known.

Even if there were, then there was no way out but to get Jun out of the business. (Minghao’s mock hurt and his protectiveness over Jun flashed in his head and Mingyu just thought his brain had horrible timing and horrible feels).  
But still, better send a warning about Jun.

//  
It was a couple of months later that he met Chan and Samuel, who, he must note, had never shown up in any kind of reports regarding the Xu household before. Samuel was chatting away with Jun on the shooting field, probably after a practice session, and Chan was on a bench cleaning his gun, watching the other two with a keen glance that Mingyu found extremely familiar, like birds of a kind. He was quiet and the entire thing was coincidental, not making his presence shown. And yet all three pairs of eyes snapped towards him and he could see Chan reaching for his weapon until Jun waved.

“Hey Mingyu~! I see you have seen my disciples~ Ohhh, where’s the manner Samuel? Chan?”

“We are really not.” Snapped Chan?, never once looking up at Mingyu while continuing to clean his gun. (wow rude)

(Yeah, they must be really not because with all the information his household had digged there had never been any Chan and Samuel, and it was abnormal that the second-in-line after Minghao was having any disciples in the first place.  
But then again Jun should be in China instead of hanging around Mingyu and Minghao and being chummy with the world in the first place. He never quite understand when it came to Jun.)

“Aw, you should not be embarrassed Channie~” Jun cooed and twirled, probably trying to be more embarrassing to fluster his “Channie” because that was the type of person he was. No surprise, really.

“We are really not, Hoshi-hyung did the training until he became a fucking coward. And besides, we were here to meet Minghao-hyung, not you.” Chan snorted, nose scrunching at Jun fake clutching his chest to display how “sincerely hurt” he were.

Samuel just waved through it all, struggling to smile at Mingyu, all naive and shy and Mingyu briefly wondered how long has it been since he had been in.

(Hoshi though, now where did he hear that name before?)  
.

Minghao came back from China to settle a deal with an ex-partner a week after, necklace missing, and there was a furrow between his brow, one that Mingyu unconsciously, desperately wanted to clear. Mingyu had walked over, a comment to start a bicker on the tip of his tongue, one that Minghao always entered with his sharp tongue and an eventual smile that Mingyu had found pleasant to see. But he had barely managed to croak it out before Samuel ran over and just tackled Minghao down to the ground. Mingyu knew Minghao, and while he didn’t precisely know Minghao, he knew that Minghao did not let people hold him down, he would hold his stand and keep his pose and give off his polite smile. But there was Minghao laughing, his long black hair spreaded onto the wooden ground and his eyes crinkled and he was patting Samuel’s hair and then he was making the fondest look that left Mingyu more awe-struck than anything had ever before.

Samuel challenged Minghao to a duel, claiming on how much he had improved and he would like to show Minghao and he looked much too excited for a child raised in a gang. (He wasn’t, Mingyu learned a while after, he got out too soon and came back also entirely too early but even by then he looked with adoration at the root of his heart and the way he looked at Minghao made even Mingyu fond.)

So they scheduled a combat duel, both bare-handed and with weapon, and Minghao made Mingyu set up a camera for training purposes. At his side, Jun snickered because “isn’t Samuel adorable with his obvious puppy crush that Minghao never catches?” and Chan was downright showing his distaste because “why should we ever hold respect for you old geezers again”. So Jun just stood up and promptly challenged Chan to a duel and tickled Chan until he was croaked into it. Mingyu was left alone with his camera, and he was somewhat relieved by it because he never knew what his expression could show and what Jun could see.

Minghao held his grounds, his moves quick and sharp yet flowy in a way that it almost seemed like he were dancing and not delivering killing moves. Samuel charged first, delivering round horse kicks with ease, giving light but fast punches which Minghao caught and blocked. The duel lasted a while, both of them stilled and tried to analysed and all of the sudden Minghao flew, (it should not be a surprise because acrobatics is one of his expertise) and yet when Minghao delivered the finishing blow, knocking down Samuel with his agile feet and made a perfect landing in his white robes and keen eyes and the slightest breaths Mingyu found his breath taken away. It all lasted for second until the fierced look is replaced with fond and then Minghao was holding Samuel up and patting his head one more time, worlds between his prior demeanor and pure gentleness then, and Mingyu almost forgot he was filming and Jun was there holding Dino down and the world suddenly worked like a camera lens that blurred everything out but Minghao and Minghao alone.

Then Samuel grabbed his weapon and they continued the second duel. (The only thing he could say? Minghao knew how to work nun-chucks and moved like he walked out of the world of kung-fu). Samuel on the other hand looked much happier than somebody who lost both rounds and after it all he caught Dino mumbling.

“Hyung is still too soft. It would only hurt him in the end.”

(Softness doesn’t help in this world. And even now, that still stands true).

Before Mingyu could ask (not that he was actually going to, despite his curiosity over whatever made Dino a brat as he was being), Dino turned and tilted his head and asked:  
“Have you ever heard of Kwon Soonyoung?”  
.  
,

(It was no wonder Chan maintained the disrespect, to Jun and to Mingyu but especially to Minghao and snorted on Hoshi. It was no wonder he trampled over softness and swore to never, ever feel the same).  
///  
.  
.  
.

Kwon Soonyoung, who Mingyu had heard of and known and who everyone had respected, was the materials artist, and also the hitman, somebody you simply have heard of if you ever fight. Kwon Soonyoung was the embodiment of fire and flair and they said he had the fire of a tiger, his moves lithe and agile and extremely sharp and clean yet still held so much power and he came up with stances and strategies and attack formations people never thought of before.

Kwon Soonyoung who Minghao had told him in the darks of many nights after, when he brought Mingyu out at midnight to gaze at the endless sea, his silver charm that started whatever they were having shining under meek silver moonlight, went by the name of Hoshi because he strived to be a star and to shine, was a bastard son but he was so excellent at what he did that he was put in charge of all the battling, trained Minghao and Chan since they had no inkling of what grace was and was on his road to become a legend among all fighters. He instilled in Minghao how to fight and what to strive for, basically created Chan’s entire world because since then fighting was all Chan ever loved, put in them the ambition and garnered all the respect until he dropped everything to run away, in the favor of love.

“It should be expected, really. He did everything with all his might. He probably loved with all his might too.”

“I wondered if he were alive.”

“I was supposed to kill him under the family orders, and yet I let him go, you know? Because he wanted it bad, he wanted it even though it meant a life of running and dodging and being ready to pack everything up and run whenever there was the slightest chance of being found.”

“I wondered if he regretted it. Giving up everything he had known for something so shaky and so fragile and so unstable.”

“I would, if I were him.”

The various things Minghao said had tuned into the recess of the night and into oblivion, into the wind that blew along the abandoned beach. And down to the wet dirty sand went his reasons to why he could not just simply run and leave it all behind. He had attuned to this world with dangers lurking, with gunshots and checking his food twice in case of attempts of poison, to this world of pretense and keeping up face and stride.

But Minghao was soft even though he was fierce, he was soft under all the tough walls he had built up around himself, much like Hoshi probably once were and Mingyu knew because in seconds he was kissing Mingyu on the forehead like the cliché chick-flicks Jun ironically dragged Mingyu into watching and lacing together their fingers under the moonlight and in this secluded beach at midnight where it seemed like there were only them among the world and making Mingyu lose his mind.

Mingyu knew what they had was strong and that it was love, even though he could also see that in no way would Minghao give up his family and the legacy they have built and the life he had led in the name of tenderness and love or whatever feelings, even though Mingyu knew he would not hesitate to take Mingyu down if his mask were ever unveiled.

(But that should be enough, Mingyu could work around that, for soon there would be nothing left for Minghao to leave behind.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are interested in how Hoshi's life is after his elope, check out the second part of this series about Hoshi. it's called "broken stars" and is written by my friend but is true to this au lol


	2. Chapter 2

22.

Mingyu was bleeding hard and he knew because of his slowered steps and tipsy turns. It was fine, he was used to it, this was the only thing Mingyu had ever known: to put his life on the life and to kill without hesitation, to not rest, to continue to crawl even if it costed him his life. A mission that he had gone on without Minghao (and it was regular, mind you not, Kim Mingyu was not a shadow to the heir like so _so_ many had snickered behind their backs) had gone haywire, somebody having messed up the formation (probably some low life newbie idiot had set off a noise), and instead of just sneaking out and about like the plan Mingyu outran troops and dodged fires. He wore a vest but he got a mangled foot that dragged him down, and he could hear people catching up and turning flashlights around. But Mingyu had a purpose to go for, an ideal to strive and a trusty rifle and one working leg and muscle strength, so he gunned and smashed together skulls and came out bloody and monstrous until reinforcement finally arrived.

 

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He opened his eyes to Minghao, in a hardness and white tee with specks of dried blood and combat boots and it might have been bloody and cruel but the first thought that occured to Mingyu was how beautiful Minghao had been. He had a somewhat worried look, soft and tender like the some of the few times Mingyu could tell he cared, yet he came from a bloodbath and his tone was sassy and sardonic when he talked but he looked absolutely stunning in leather and metal and smelling of smoke and gun. And before Mingyu knew any better, he had crashed together their mouths and cracked open Minghao’s pretty lips. It was a sloppy first kiss, all teeth and little tongue, more fighting for dominance than exchanging love, and Mingyu’s fingers messed up all of Minghao’s hair and his other hand (still bandaged) scrambled up to Minghao’s tousled collar and pulled the other down, closer and closer until they both gasped for air.

 

“You are a really shitty kisser.” Minghao said, even as he smashed his mouth onto Mingyu’s, time and time again, his fingers dancing along the back of Mingyu’s neck and pulled and _pulled_.

 

(They made a habit of kissing afterwards, sometimes a peck from a grinning Minghao, sometimes a full make-out session after mindless arguing and glasses of wine, sometimes just because one of them felt like doing it, and with all the talents Minghao had Mingyu wasn’t surprised he make time froze during kisses and in-between his nipping along the jawline and leaving marks and biting down).

(Never further than that, because there was always something stopping the other: Minghao looking pensive until he kicked Mingyu off and dressed and just moved _away_ ; “Don’t pull yourself in too deep”, hissed Minghao as he pulled himself further, jumpy and snarky like they did not just suck out all the air in each other’s lungs).

 

///

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0.

 

Mingyu was a good cook, he had been alone enough to cultivate his culinary skills upto what it was then after all, Seokmin and Jeonghan both admitted it. He always let Jeonghan coax him into making them food (Jeonghan had got this power over people that still scared Mingyu at times), and then they would always wolf down his food like a bunch of unruly, misfit kids after sports practice. (Though when Mingyu thought about it, they were, just replace “kids” with “twenty years old men” and “sports practice” with “murder”. They bickered and gobbled down on their food and decked each other in their numerous playful attempts to fight.)

Seokmin let him do the dishes because Jeonghan said so, but he would always sit and stare at the back of Mingyu relentlessly wiping down pans and dishes and bowls like he was worried for him, which irked Mingyu to no end.

 

The conversation that followed would always start like this: “Mingyu, do you want to take a break?” – no, he did not, why did Seokmin keep asking; then “Mingyu, I am worried about you.” – what was there to be worried about? His works were faultless, his life completely in tow; “Mingyu, we are fine now, I just want you to be happy—“ – and he was, was he not? He had got Minghao at home, and their clan was then at the top, and he could still be with Seokmin and Jeonghan like this, enjoying food together and Minghao would love his food too, he always finished them, even though it got rough and dragged out too long at times. There was no other happiness Mingyu wanted, after all, and Seokmin was just over-worrying like the worriward he had always been since they were toddlers.

Jeonghan though, he just raised his fork and chimed, airy and uptilt like he had had enough and was going to mock Mingyu’s relentless stupidity.

 

“Drop the act, Kim Mingyu. You are nothing but a fucking psycho.”

 

 

* * *

 

 /

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Minghao did eat. First because Mingyu forced food down his throat because he could not stand Minghao getting any weaker and sicker and thinner than he already was, then because they offered him a feeding tube which Minghao stared with disdain so he just picked up his spoon and started to chug food down without tasting, movements mimicking that of a robot – the eternal bugging circle of rinse, rise, repeat.

 

He always threw it all up. His body, all skins and bones, refused to take in anything anymore, and Mingyu knew because he was the one that cleaned up the bile, wiping down the disgust in Minghao’s mouth with water, then wiping him down in the showers almost like how a mother handles a baby child (until it got rough and dirty with steams and pink skin, again and again).

 

.

Minghao still ate and threw up, Mingyu still cleaned and wiped him down. Just normacy and routine, just Minghao being too lost in his own world to look at Mingyu the way he used to do. Or at least so Mingyu thought until he saw Minghao’s lips curled up in a cheeky smile this time in the steaming shower, smiling like he was edging on a challenge, all sardonic and yet inviting like how he used to pull Mingyu in and drowned the both them down and down before. And Mingyu, awestruck and taken aback, just stepped forward in daze until he was caressing Minghao’s cheeks and tilting up the other chin and brushing up his growing hair for a kiss. (Does Minghao ever smile anymore? Is he finally back to smiling now--)

 

What happened: Mingyu’s blood dripping down from his neck, quick and clean and just barely missing his arteries like it was done by a professional killer in top form, not from thin and pale Minghao sitting on the edge of the tub, his grab loosening on a piece of broken glass that Mingyu never saw before.

They were both bleeding, Minghao’s blood from his bare hand scratched with his hold on sharp glass, Mingyu’s own blood dripping down all over his shirt; until the guards rushed in and the inhouse medics got them treated and patched and Minghao was bounded down to his bed all over again.

 

Mingyu just stared, at the bandaged hand that was now tied to the edge of the bed, at Minghao’s no longer fiery eyes unlike when he tried to stab Mingyu on his very neck, aiming for a kill, putting in all remaining power and desire.

 

(But Mingyu wanted this, he wanted this so he stopped Minghao from killing himself, he wanted this so he did not let Minghao die in the crossfire, taking Minghao back by  practically threatening Seokmin with his own well-being, he wanted this so he killed Jun even after Jun told him to take care of Minghao. He wanted this and he have gotten this, so happiness it is, happiness this must be, and Seokmin and Jeonghan must have been gravely mistaken with their worries because with the world that they are all in, who would know anything about happiness?)

 

/

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22.

Jun was staring at Mingyu again.

 

“What, am I extraordinarily hot today or something?” Mingyu felt the urge to poke then, unable to resist the need to get back at Jun for all those times he choked Mingyu up.

 

Jun raised a brow. “I am not into those already taken.”

 

The kissing had been a secret he and Minghao loved to walk around. They did not do it around in public, and certainly not in front of Jun. Did Minghao left something again, although even if so, he had hidden things perfectly, did he not – _Did Minghao tell Jun?_

 

“How did you—“ He said, trying to retain his expressionless face, barely starting before Jun interrupted with an all-knowing smirk.

 

“I did not. You just admitted to it yourself. I am glad though.”

 

Sometimes Mingyu wondered, had Jun not been born the way he was, where would he be. Jun is weird but he is a good person, even in this world, so an alternative Jun born to a normal household would probably achieved great things. It was a shame, Mingyu hated to kill good people, and he would hate to kill Jun; but with the way Jun looked at him and at Minghao and how there was something Jun must have known, there would be no other way around.

 

23.

It was quick but it was expected, and Minghao soon accepted the throne from his father and was finally going to become a king instead of just a prince. The ceremony fell right on Minghao’s birthday, and there was a wiggle in Jun’s brows that told Mingyu that Jun was up to something he would really rather not know.

 

He knew anyway because that was who Jun was.

 

“It’s on Minghao’s birthday so he is probably sulky” Jun said, the tone suggested that he had not finished, so Mingyu waited for him to go on.

 

“We normally hold him a birthday party which he loves but pretends he hates, and which we all knew, no matter how hard he tries to not let it show.”

 

Mingyu remembered that. That night last year was when Minghao just ditched him because of “previous engagements”, when the kissing had not started and it had just been just late nights drinking wine with jazz and candles and slices of cheese at the bar on the corner of 8th Street in town, (or sometimes, in Minghao’s room with fairy lights, _for the mood_ , or so he had claimed). Minghao’s inner circle was a ruckus bunch, and while they were often all calm and collected and cool while interacting with the rest of the world, that was how Jun was to people who did not know him. Mingyu had not been invited before, but then the kissing started and Minghao started to talk about other things (though still not the things Mingyu needed) and from the looks of this and Jun’s smile, maybe Mingyu was this time.

 

“You are.”

 

(When will Jun stop reading his mind?)

 

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* * *

 

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The party is held after the title ceremony, so he watched Minghao’s ascendance first and foremost, from many many rows behind. Minghao’s hair is brushed back, showing his forehead and he is adorning a fitting black suit and leather shoes and his eyes were fierced enough to shut all the murmurs of him being too young and inexperienced and undeserving up. It was just a stupid showcase of power, Minghao had said, all the while twirling his glass of shimmering champagne, it was dumb and all for show but it shut the whining people up and put them to place, so he was going to take it in a stride.

And take it in a stride he did, stable steps, sharp moves, keen eyes. His hands tightened around the family’s symbolic sword, accepted the clan stamp, thumped his shoes over the stone path paved specifically for the crowning of a king.

 

Even on the cloudy day it was, Minghao’s face still caught light, his expression unwavering, all the same blank and indifference and not showing a trace of emotion. But there was a fragment of a second when Mingyu looked up and caught a glimpse of Minghao’s smile adorned with pride, all dimples and brightful and even when that fragment of time was over ( _too quick, too soon, not enough_ ), it lingered in the back of Mingyu’s mind.

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* * *

 

0.

“Have you heard of “Punch” before, Gyu?” Seokmin asked in a much more serious tone than he usually holds. “Our intel has got some leaks on a guy digging around on the case of the Xu downfall “

 

“And his patterns?” That’s odd. While they did let some escape with their lives intact (some unfortunately even from the inner circle), there should be no point in digging around the Xu matter because to the world, there is no Xu left alive. He had prepared a body, laced it with evidences of Minghao’s DNA, chose a specific type of body that matched and jaws and teeth altered, prepared so very thoroughly in and out so that Xu Minghao appeared very much dead to the world and especially to those who made it out alive. And yet.

 

“Like Wonwoo’s. The over-counter against the firewall on the case had got Wonwoo written all over it.” That’s odder, Wonwoo doesn’t opt for shitty gang nicknames, some as stupid as “Punch”, and he certainly would not act alone without any clue. The guy should not even have any resource to do this in the first place.

 

“Wonwoo would not be able to do anything even if he managed to crack it. Do keep me updated though, Seok.”

 

“You know he would. But that was not the worst part, theoretical “Wonwoo” apparently would be able to do something, sadly.” Jeonghan, having popped out of seemingly nowhere, said it like he had not just dropped an entire bomb on Mingyu’s head.

 

“And tell me what do you mean by that?” Mingyu really had no time for the mind games. (He wouldn’t, the Xu had fallen, their Chinese branch missed an heir, they wrecked the entire riches of the Xu so thoroughly and toppled over their partners over with all the information stolen there should not have been any resources left for Wonwoo at all.)

 

“It was hard, but we tracked the location down to Zhennan’s zone.”

 

Mingyu thought of the failed deal with Zhennan last month, of Minghao and Zhennan’s faraway ex-partnership, and how betrayal stinked.

.

 

His distress probably showed, because when he arrived back to Minghao, still bound after his stunt of trying to slit open Mingyu’s throat, the other was smiling gleefully, like there was something he knew and Mingyu did not, like the times had turned back to the days before.

/

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* * *

 

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23.

“Did you get him a present?” Jun asked, popping a strawberry lollipop like a child pretending to smoke with a plastic straw.

 

“And I should because?”

(Anything Minghao wanted, he would have got those himself, afterall there was no point in spoiling a young master who took everything he could. )

 

“Birthday sentiments, you idiot.” Jun rolled his eyes. “We all got him _something_. He especially loves that life-sized cut-out of me I gave him last year, uses it all the time!” Jun chirped.

 

(He did. Used it all the time. Except Minghao used that life-sized standee for knife-work practicing purposes and the thing was in such a mangled state by then that Mingyu wondered if that should be something Jun place his pride on.)

 

“Mingyu can just wrap himself in a ribbon and present that to Minghao.” Said Wonwoo, passing by, pushing up his glasses in an entirely classy manner like he hadn’t just pulled off the cringiest line in the world.

 

“I did that once and was stared down in utter disgust though?” Jun mused, and Mingyu seriously questioned what was wrong with the guy’s head.

 

Wonwoo just rolled his eyes in an I’m-completely-done-with-you manner, to which Mingyu greatly related, before whisking Jun away. “For you inner peace of mind, Mingyu”, he had said, and that was a nice gesture from Wonwoo, except now he could hear Jun asking Wonwoo what had he bought too and felt a tiny bit of pity towards his somewhat savior.

 

He started to ponder on a gift too.

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That was a lie.

 

Mingyu had already bought the gift, even though that was not meant as a birthday present or anything similar or just anything, in general, at all. It was a tiny thought that lingered in his mind after passing by some high-end shops in the middle of his mission, which had escalated into Mingyu actually having bought it thinking of Minghao, and then promptly discarded the thing to be forgotten among his many many other trivial objects because there never was any proper time to give it away to its meant owner, if there even was something such as a proper time.

 

Their relationship was like that, unlabelled and undefined and there was no telling of the future nor there were any anniversaries nor photos taken nor gifts exchanged. The only thing that reminded Mingyu of them being _something,_ were Minghao’s touches and lips and the gasps and his teeth grazing over the length of Mingyu’s back and neck and Mingyu’s own desperation for there to be more. So Mingyu digged out his room and luggage and pulled out a velvet box and its shiny content. (Jeonghan would call any action put forward with this kind of gift risky and promptly called Mingyu off it, but who is Mingyu had he not taken risks, when that had been the nature of his life?)

/

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The party had overall been mild (he had expected it to be a bit wilder, with Jun and Jisoo being weird and Wonwoo seemingly the type for quiet mischief and Minghao being calm but could also be intense), but it had been a cozy (a weird word for a bunch of gangsters) gathering with a lot of wine and fine food and nice music except they all hushed when Jisoo tried to turn on some sort of American song about rain falling on Sunday mornings and when Hansol churned out some light mumblings that might or might not make sense. They talked, albeit more trivial topics than Mingyu would have liked, but he ogled the fondness on Minghao’s face when Samuel was mentioned and could not help but wonder what the relationship between them could have been. Jun was sprawling all over Wonwoo, and he was whining for the presenting to start to which Minghao chuckled and looked more happy than he had ever been. (More so than he had ever been with Mingyu, and Mingyu hated feeling like this so much he chugged down the expensive booze lain on the table and clarified such action with them being free and nice.) The lights started to get fuzzy, the sounds drowning out, but Mingyu registered presenting the box to Minghao, careful under inspecting eyes, and that Minghao looked so pretty when he put on Mingyu’s handpicked present that Mingyu repeatedly pride himself on choosing. There’s also a want to store the image forever, back in some corners of his mind that were probably already filled with a multitude of Minghaos, of Minghao smiling and Minghao being prideful and fierce and now Minghao wearing something from Mingyu, carrying along a piece of Mingyu himself.

.

 

The walk to Minghao’s fancy car were only him and Minghao, the latter insisting on not cleaning up whatever potential messes a drunk-driving Mingyu could cause. Minghao was walking first and Mingyu second, and from the blurry vision dampened by shots after shots of alcohol, Mingyu could see Minghao, in his midnight suit, black from head to toe except that his right ear twinkled with a silver light in the form of a newly adorned earring, shaped like an infinity sign.

In the grey lights of the parking space and the wet grounds that reflected the moon, Mingyu could clearly outline the form of Minghao, thin and slim (one that would fit seamlessly in a locking embrace), his hair then having reached the base of his slender neck. Their shoes squeaked on the slippery grounds in a matching pace, splattering random puddles that Mingyu knew Minghao purposely stepped into, mindless and careless of his expensive oxfords. And then, even with the distance between them (both literally and figuratively) and Mingyu’s fuzzy mind, he thought it was nice and comfortable, together in an isolated-but-not-really parking ground, the spaces colored in with black-and-whites with the barest blue from a flickering sign. Like an old movie, where people were tragically happy even with missing happy endings. And then as he saw Minghao, turning around with his pretty neck and shining eyes and a teasing smile on his face and the dangling earring under the starry sky, Mingyu’s steps halted for a break and also for he could take it all in, the smile and the stars that were not only on the sky but on Minghao and the earring and also the many, many kisses that followed all of that.

 

Their something was so very tender, once upon a time. Infinite potential, like the stars on the sky and like the earring that Minghao would continue to wear, up until that time striked.

 

/

* * *

 

 

0.

Minghao was smiling, his free hand tapping on the window’s edge.

 

“Glad to see that you are finally back.”, he whispered at the open window, and Mingyu blanked because it has been so many many months since he had last heard that voice, calm with a teasing edge, the first words after a forever silence being a welcome that Mingyu never knew he desperately craved.

 

So Mingyu took some eventual brave steps towards the seeming illusion, flinching at Minghao’s tease of “watch out, you have got useless clumsy long limbs”, and as he had closed the dark curtains and now staring down at Minghao, grinning, it felt so much like time has rewinded and he was back to Minghao’s room in mindless teasing and banter over the color of ties and heated air.

 

“Cat’s got your tongue? Or did you get dazzled just by looking at me again?”

 

Minghao knew how Mingyu gets, knew how to get him on edge, knew how to charm and use it to his advantage too often for Mingyu not to see what exactly Minghao was trying to do. But he allowed himself a break that time, allowed himself to drown into the illusion of eventual forgive and forget and enjoyed this Minghao from before the fall, from before their relationship went down under and was never dragged up. He allowed himself to believe that Minghao was accepting him, again.

 

They were going to do this, all over again, once again.

 

/


	3. Chapter 3

0.

“You suck in a Manchester knot, it makes you look _at least_ fifty.” Minghao scrunched his nose in disgust, always having things to say on whatever Mingyu had chosen to put on, despite his tendency to steal the other’s clothes at any given chance.

 

“And to what do you _kindly suggest_?” Mingyu hissed back at the jab, already braced for another petty fight.

 

“With your princely snotty attitude, take a Prince Albert to match.” Minghao fired right back.

 

“I am not snotty. You are the snotty one.” (Childish banter, like it had been before.)

 

“Please, Kim Mingyu, Gyu, we have been through this before, you are snotty, you define snottiness, if snotty becomes a person, it turns into you. Figuratively _and_ literally, you spread your snot all over the place.”

 

Alright, he did, guilty as charged, he could remember Jun’s utter disgust when he accidentally rubbed his hand with snot over the former’s hair, but that was purely coincidental!! And Mingyu was so not letting Minghao win by mentioning an _accident_.

 

“That was one time!” (And they both knew what time it was, the way Jun had comically, dramatically reacted made it extremely hard to forget that particular time. Further back in his mind, there was a tiny worry that took root because should he even mention Jun, should they even talk about Jun after everything that had happened and escalated and burned.)

 

“And the time you rubbed snot all over that dog’s fur.”

 

Mingyu could see Minghao roll his eyes in that grudging way that always greatly annoyed Mingyu (and the thought was pushed back) and he was _so not_ going to let Minghao win.

 

“I never rubbed any snot on a dog?” He really did not, if he did then Minghao and Jun and even Wonwoo would have never let that information slide without making fun of him for hundreds of thousands of times. But then he remembered one of Minghao’s snides when Mingyu woke with unbrushed fuzzy hair on one single damp morning and forgot to brush and realized--  

 

“Wait did you mean my hair?? You compared my hair to dog’s fur???”

 

Minghao just stared at Mingyu with the ultimate blankness, blinking innocently. The smug bastard.

 

“It is curly, dirty, murky brown, and you probably got your own saliva all over it. So dog’s fur it is.”

 

And that was so rude, he took full offense to that. He is Kim Mingyu, the second in command for the Lee’s for fuck’s sake. People _fear him_. But yet Xu Minghao was there, comparing him to a dog and his hair to saliva-laced _dog fur_ –

 

Mingyu did not realize that he was openly gaping until he heard Minghao’s laugh, (more like a multitude of really loud and uncontrollable, tiny, sweet giggles), his eyes tearing up and forming lines, then falling over the couch of Mingyu’s bedroom over a fit of laughter at Mingyu’s full offense and comical expression. The very damn nerves Xu Minghao had fucking got.

 

(Mingyu found himself enjoying that, however, a laughing Minghao, insulting his choice of ties and coordination skills, comparing him to animals and mocking his habits. It was like Mingyu had never have to take any choice, never had to put his house over Minghao, putting loyalty over whatever it was that they had, putting vegnance over the feelings Mingyu dubbed as fiery love once upon a time.)

 

When the laughing fit stopped, Minghao probed his head on his hand that are now healed, the cuts still visible but have hardened up, pulling up his thin pretty lips and whispers, calling Mingyu over as Mingyu untangled his own tie.

 

“Need some help with that?” And he tied the long fabric at Mingyu’s nod, adjusting the length and form until it formed a perfect Prince Albert.. He patted the collar of Mingyu’s suit and placed his hand over the chest pocket and closed his eyes, as if trying to feel the patterns of Mingyu’s heart, (which he needn’t do anyway because Xu Minghao had always knew how it beats in the first place) an action so gentle and private that Kim Mingyu could feel his damn mind working up over nothing again.

 

“And off you go” said Minghao as Mingyu was leaving, all the while coming back to the then closed window, and Mingyu held back an offer for Minghao to go with him but then he could see the chain that was still sitting on Minghao’s thin ankle, reminding him that this was the present, and never an illusion of the past.

 

He bidded back, voice lowered to mere whispers.

 

“Good bye, Yongpalie.”

 

(He left, locking the door and bidding goodbye to the guards stationed outside Minghao’s room which was also his own, never looking back that he missed Minghao’s flinch at the nickname that used to be so specifically endeared between the two of them - Yongpal.)

 

/

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* * *

 

24.

“There is a rat among our ranks.” Hissed Minghao, his eyes having taken on so dark an edge that would scare Mingyu if he had not known that there were no clues that led back to him.

 

Somebody had given a tip to the police on their trade at the port. The goods were fine, all the officials bought off with handsome sums quite a long time ago, but the tip that was handed back in their hand was very much detailed, from the quantities of each and every items they had in the container to the time and the number of appointed men. Details that people from outside should never have gained unless they overcame Wonwoo’s layers of firewalls and traps, which should not be any at all possible. Mingyu planned a seed of unanimously doubt, over all the inner circle and also over himself, sacrificing the chance to wreck the shipment for the seed that hopefully will branch its roots and wreck up all the stable grounds.

 

“Nobody outside should be able to access and not leave a single trace.” Wonwoo tapped on his gear, his demeanor calm but eyebrows creased, and Mingyu can see Jun patting the back of Wonwoo’s neck in a vain attempt to ease all the stress out.

 

( _So it was somebody from inside_ , it was a similar thought that occurred to all the people in this room from under the ground, somebody within, in this very room, and was selling them out. Mingyu knew some had eyes on him, and satisfied he was, for that was exactly what he wanted.)

 

“I believe that you all know where your loyalty lies.” It was Minghao, the sentence itself threatening and casting doubt but the tone he said it in conveyed such firm belief and trust that Mingyu knew every single one of them would be able get, and he hated when Minghao was like this, charming and cunning but obstructing and never letting Mingyu get off easy on achieving what he wanted.

 

“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t me.” Jun chirped, all too casually, and all of the sudden the atmosphere stilled and dropped like a pin until Hansol bursted out in laughter because “Yea, for sure it wasn’t Jun”.

 

They all laughed at that, letting the intrusive thought of one of them turning sides slide (for now), even though Mingyu knew they would all eventually look into the case to dig the rat out, for the luxury of plain pure faith was not something affordable in this part of the world.

 

Mingyu wondered if Minghao pinned his doubt on any of those in this room, so close-knitted to everyone he might as well considered them his family, if Minghao pinned his doubt over Mingyu (thought he probably did, the meetings he did let Mingyu attend very few and far between), and wondered how it was, having faith in something as flimsy as trust and made family.

 

(What Mingyu saw, was the hope in Minghao’s steer clear eyes, though hope for what he had no way of knowing. At the sidelines, however, was Wonwoo furrowing his brows in the far corner, fingers still tapping over the various codes and from next to him, Jun flinching in the slightest way.)

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/

Mingyu knew something was going to blow over before the meeting even started, with the way Wonwoo was rushing over them without any greetings (in a way he never did), cursing (and Wonwoo _never_ cursed), his feet quickening and how Jun was meekly looming over the former, weakly raising a hand to wave at Mingyu and Minghao as they were passing by. The meeting was called by Wonwoo, apparently having found something (which was weird because something was what Mingyu made sure he did not find), calling for more guards to stand outside as if in preparations for an expected escape. They both knew what this meant, and Mingyu was worried for himself but also worried for Minghao because while the other’s steps were calm, the shake in his hands had given it all away, the hope in his eyes shaky and on the verge of crumbling, and Mingyu had the half of mind to pulled out of this, to pulled them both out and into something less nerve-wrecking and hope-destructing and more free.

 

He pulled the door open anyways, to the room that was almost filled and shared questioning looks, pulling a seat for himself whilst Minghao had already settled down.

 

Wonwoo looked up, took a breath (more to not let frustration and disappointment slip over his usual calm tone than to ease himself down), and dropped the words:

“I have traced the traitor down.”

 

( _And they are in this room_ , that was an ugly truth they all understood.)

/

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|

* * *

 




Minghao loved clichés.

 

That was a fact Mingyu had garnered after all the time he had been here, had been aside Minghao, sitting through candle lit dinners, waltzing over old playlists on vinyl records being played on Minghao’s phonograph (all fancy, all state-of-the-art, fitting of his rich young master image), snickering when Minghao felt like buying roses.

Minghao adored clichés and that’s why while he never admitted it was romance, they found themselves walking on the beach at the crack of dawn while the waves were still softy kissing brown sand, the red sky bleeding pink and orange onto the cold waters, salty breeze blowing over Minghao’s newly-cut and dyed dark brown hair and a single earring as he was kicking sand a few steps in front of Mingyu, all for a silent walk in an inherently romantic setting, dressed like tourists on a honeymoon in a faraway land. Wishfully, Mingyu craved the image to be the truth instead of what actually transcended, craving for how they could be mindless travellers instead of being heavy with thoughts and caution, and on their hands sandy sea shells instead of washed-out blood.

 

Minghao loved art.

 

This fact was apparent in the way he painted and enjoyed creating, his works more splashes of color on undefined surfaces in stark contrast to Mingyu’s stable lines. His view of the world was mild but explosive, the colors he opted to both neon and muted, all in an organized mess that somehow worked on the many grounds he had painted on, papers and clothes and ornaments. So it came as no surprise to Mingyu when the other chose his own body as a canvas as well.

 

The wind blew over the flannel that had been drooping over Minghao’s bare shoulder blades, his sleeveless very much tousled underneath, showing white skin and black ink. Jisoo’s present on the night of the birthday had been a free tattoo from a discrete but packed parlor, hidden among the buzz of various colors around (and it had surprised Mingyu to know that it was Minghao’s first), and now sitting on the tough, scarred skin were black ink in the form of a Chinese dragon, molded as an horizontal eight under the claim that Minghao’s the eighth in their clan. It matched, an eight that was lain like an infinity symbol, matched with the silver earring, matched with the infinite possibilities Minghao held. The ink had settled in by then, an addition to an already beautiful canvas that Mingyu found himself much too invested into, found himself sunk a bit too deep in.

 

(Yongpal, Mingyu had whispered in that night, upon laying a kiss above bare skin.

Minghao had turned and smiled, beautifully and bright like the way he always had been.

 

“Dragon eight? You are fiinally getting rusty with your non-existent creativity afterall?”)

 

(It was a harmless jab that Mingyu hadn’t minded, never minded, because despite how ultimately uncreative Minghao had claimed the name was, clicking his tongue, rolling his eyes, he could see the subtle smile and how Minghao loved the way the words rolled of Mingyu’s tongue, a little secret between the two of them and them alone.)

 

(It reminded him of the time when Seokmin asked if Mingyu needed an out, the way he had sound too perplexed and concerned over some non-existent edge, an offer to which Mingyu promptly declined. It confused him at the time and even now, there was nothing going off, there was nothing directly killing him or giving him out, and yet Seokmin had said it like pulling Mingyu out was an action that was worth pulling all the already strained strings.)

 

It didn’t help that he would see it many many more times, sweaty and bloody and would traced his fingers along the line of that tattoo, all the while digging nails into skin, desperate and wanting to mark and draw along that skin canvas yet cannot because like a dream, Minghao would always, inevitably pull away.

 

.

* * *

 

24.

The scene playing was what they were all used too, the same violence, the same torture, the same emotional play and distress that were all routine in their world, only with different actors. Yet some could not bear to look, even while they stilled their faces in the firmest way, hope betrayed and belief shaken.

 

He wouldn’t admit it, Jisoo continued to hiss under his breath that there had been nothing that he had done, despite the many attempts they tried to get something, anything out of him. Wonwoo hold his grounds firm and square, the detection hanging over his back, the need to keep together their status weighing over their distrust of a friend. It would have all been to easy to believe Jisoo, for either he was an excellent actor or his firm eyes and reluctant to admit his crimes so daunting and relentless, except the proofs on their hands were too blatant to ignore. Even with all the clues erased, Wonwoo have retraced step by step, person by person, Hansol had pulled out grimmy noised pictures snapped in the darkest of nights, Jisoo himself could not deny the relation he had with someone from outside – some information broker, an ensured source of danger that led them to here, trying to force something out of Jisoo’s zipped mouth over a guy instead of brothers.

 

“I did converse with him but I did not sell anything out.” All of that, and yet all they hear are repeats of a false claim of innocence that was not very damn well-received.

 

Jun was shutting his eyes close, perhaps in consolations of himself for being a kindred spirit who still held meager faith. Wonwoo was angry and practically fuming, being the one to unveil it all, being the one who had warned them all over trusting. Hansol was calm but he looked like he had given up, despite having seen all the things in the world but never quite believing until it unfolds right in front of his eyes.

 

And Mingyu? He was never let down, never disappointed, perhaps more amazed than anything else because inwardly, he knew Jisoo was telling the truth. The older guy never did any of that when that was all Mingyu’s, taking the information, by slowly slipping bugs onto the software, selling it out in anonymity and getting Jeonghan to cover all his tracks. And yet the situation had worked out all weird, the plan was to plan a seed of doubt, not to wipe the weeds out nor kill the plants, the tracks were to be erased not falsified, and there was not supposed to be anything to lead to anywhere, instead of clues tying all over at Jisoo and whatever guy he had been seeing behind their backs.

 

There must have been someone else, someone similar to Mingyu, someone also having schemes up their sleeves and trying to pull all of this empire down. Mingyu could only hope their paths wouldn’t clash, but the major question was **_who_**?

 

 

.

(Over the span of the room, after all of Wonwoo’s anger and Hansol’s disbelief and Minghao’s eerie calmness, Jun stared, incredulously, blankly at an indefinite void, always holding the knowing look as if all the secrets of this world walk in the palm of his hand.)

 

* * *

 

0.

 

When he once again saw Seokmin and Jeonghan who came over under the guise of bothering him for his cooking skills (again), he had braced himself to answer the known questions and shot down the expected accusations. He had left Minghao on the shooting field, the other unwilling to let his skills went unpolished (and he had been practicing and dueling with Mingyu and claimed an entire wardrobe for himself while at it as well), who had waved Mingyu off when he went over to the other two, unbothered despite being surrounded by nameless guards, there to ensure any attempts to escape would be done in vain. (The physical chain might had disappeared, and there were no longer cuffs around his leg, he was no longer confined to the space of the large bedroom, breathing and acting freely and yet there was always something unblinding and so apparent there to tie Minghao back, to this house, to Mingyu himself.)

 

Interrogation came first, Seokmin had always been tentative, too hesitant to dive straight in and so he beat around the bush, asking about Minghao, his antics and the dangers of Minghao being out and about (but of course, in a limited room of space.) He laughed at the stories told, sometimes mocking Mingyu back, and at one moment Mingyu had thought maybe they had finally got it, the way things were supposed to go. But then Jeonghan approached and asked Mingyu, how exactly was he feeling, what exactly was he planning to do, a storm of questions that Mingyu answered with ease yet held no certainty over, except for the illusioned belief that they were starting over again. (The way Minghao smiled, the way he was talking back, the way he chided and put Mingyu down. Everything seemed very much too real so he held onto that belief and that dream anyway, regardless, and expected Seokmin and perhaps more far-fetched, Jeonghan to get it, on a day not too faraway.)

 

The moment that four-letter word left Mingyu’s mouth, voice a bit tender, illusioned and not shaken, however, Jeonghan slammed the table and left, slamming the door, leaving Seokmin to stay.

 

“You should probably start cooking now?” Seokmin said, in a vain attempt to move on.

/

.

.

 

* * *

 

Mingyu found Minghao by the dining room later when the food was warm and ready to serve, twirling a glass of velvety wine by the side of Jeonghan, both too collected for a face-off that happened very much too soon. Jeonghan was silent, a finger hooked on the tail of the glass, the other paused in the middle of a tapping motion, a party smile starting to form. Mingyu walked over, taking away the drink from Minghao’s hand and putting it down, then gestured them over for dinner, unable to make out anything of things that had and might have transpired when he wasn’t there, unable to tell over the plastered smile on Minghao’s face.

So he stared at the withdrawing back of the two, his fingers still lingering on Minghao’s glass of wine that remained full, up until Minghao turned back and called him over, still wearing the same smile that Mingyu wanted nothing but to wipe off the other’s face.

“Get up and start moving, Gyu, or is that the sound of your old bones cracking that I hear?”

.

“I don’t know how you drop everything yet still manage to cook edible stuffs.” Minghao mumbled between the meager bites he takes.

“Ah yeah, Gyu, didn’t you drop a gun in the middle of trying to snipe down a boss once, then ended up having to knock him out with your fist after he moved and then, dropped your gun a second time?” Seokmin uncannily contributed to the conversation.

“Keep talking and next time I am spitting in both of your bowls.” Mingyu fired back.

 

Minghao gagged and Seokmin laughed at that, the two hitting it off like old friends, the topics turning to making fun of Mingyu with every single excuse they had got. To Seokmin’s left, Jeonghan turned his full attention to the plate of food in front of him, eerily silent, occasionally nodding at Seokmin’s chirps, sometimes glancing at Minghao (all courtesy smile put on for the show, mock innocence and yet prideful, as if there’s some sort of challenge between the two of them that Mingyu had no way to know).

 

Minghao watched lazily as Mingyu sent off the other two after dinner, his long fingers tapping on the wood of the couch to some off-tune lyrics, slender legs swinging by the sofa hand. His jacket was half-undone, his hair ruffled from lying and tossing around, his adam’s apple bobbing to clicks of tongues and suddenly Mingyu could not help but finding himself lose control.

* * *

 

.

/

(Before he came back to the hazy dream of Minghao being in his home, at the door with Seokmin and Jeonghan impatiently urging the former to leave, he had dropped the real question.

 

“Do you really think Minghao can love you back?”

 

( _With all that which you have done?_ – was the words that was left unsaid)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut. with feelings. kinda

(Minghao was a living menace, he knew how to drive people (especially people like Mingyu) insane, tearing apart the seams of mind with a twirk of his lips, and he loved doing exactly what he was best at, raising madness and loss of control under each of the step he had taken).

(The way he had always been tipping over a high surface, embracing the image of fragility and almost-freedom, the way he drooped lines of jackets and bathrobes over small shoulders, urging on Mingyu’s desire to protect and keep, the way he tugged his hair over sharp ear in an exact corner that he knew would pull Mingyu over the edge, the way he sometimes gathered the locks into a messy ponytail, flashing neck and pointy ears. Sometimes Mingyu would also see long thin fingers toying with hems of clothes and pretty lips curling, in the exact way he would lose control over.)

 

/

.

.

And lost control Mingyu did, his hands raised to reach the thin wrists of Minghao, ignoring the soft widening of eyes, pinning the other down and nuzzled to the long hair, to the slender neck, breathing in the scent of himself on Minghao’s body, thinking of numerous dreams that transpired.  And perhaps one of his wishes had came true because Minghao nudged back, his free fingers dancing over the clothed back of Mingyu, pulling him down, lacing fingers through rough brown hair. So Mingyu pulled their lips together, depriving Minghao of air, cracking open the other’s mouth, digging in and in and in until Minghao was gasping, face flushed, a thread of drool already rolling off the corner of rosy plump lips, from kissing and sucking air. Mingyu’s own heart ached, at the expression on Minghao’s face, focused yet dazed, and then he was pulling Mingyu in and kissing him back, responding with all the fire he had, sloppily, dirtily, slapping together their mouths and teeth and tongues, urging each other on. And so as Mingyu’s fingers found themselves roaming over every single surface of skin, exposed and underneath fabrics, pulling away the jacket, unbuttoning the blouse, tossing down the pair of jeans that was very much too loose on Minghao’s figure (for it was Mingyu’s, afterall), Minghao did not pull away like the faraway dream he had always been, did not push Mingyu off, just closed his eyes and inhaled and breathed, deeply, heavily, letting himself go.

 

“I love you”, Mingyu whispered as his teeth ghosted all over Minghao, on the neck and the ear and the shoulder blades and thighs, turning skin red and later purple, making marks, claiming the shivering body beneath, painting all over the canvas of skin.

 

“I love you”, Mingyu breathed as his fingers teased and roamed, down to sensitive territories, dancing along the thin figure he craved so much, adored so much, making Minghao lose his mind as well.

 

Among the gasps and sounds made in pleasure but also in pain, Minghao dropped the scarce and few words, softly and tenderly in response, (“I know”), all the while unbuttoning Mingyu’s clothes, trying to get rid of the fabric between skins, too hot and too dazed to hold up the masks and covers, needing and demanding, nails digging in Mingyu’s back, pulling him down for more. (Of course, Minghao had always known, ever since the start, knew of Mingyu’s eyes tracing his figure and steps, knew of the undressing gaze, of the undying tension in the atmosphere, knew of Mingyu’s obsession, the way Mingyu so desperately craved and wanted and needed and desired.)

 

 

In every “I know” as the sole response to declarations of love was a time they both got lost in the moment, getting heated and bothered and could not afford to care. Minghao did not hold his voice back the same way Mingyu did not hold his tongue, making bites and nips on all the surface, hands already roaming to those places to drive the other insane. So very far along and unable to wait, to hold back at everytime his name rolled out of Minghao, in craving and in demand for something more, Mingyu turned the much desired body over, seeing the outline of a toned back, the black ink on marred skin. The infinity tattoo sits in reminder of the time before, of the day Minghao looked ethereal and regal (not that he does not look like that now), of the time Minghao carried more than his weight on this slender back (not that he doesn’t now). He bites on it, having craved the taste since once upon a time, draw lines over it, making sure that the edges is littered in bitemarks, in the stark contrast of then against now.

 

What follows is the repeat motion that Mingyu had done so many times before, while Minghao’s eyes were unfocused and mind lost in a trap of emotional abyss, having been tipped over the edge of consciousness, over pure pleasure and desire. The same slickery liquid on fingers and inside in the most private of places, the pinnacle before joining two bodies as one.

 

“Can I?” He asks, voice shaky, from the heat but also from fear (fear of the dream ending, of Minghao pulling away like he used to, of soulless Minghao staring back at him with blank eyes).

 

“I wanted it.” Minghao responded, clearly more lost than clear-minded, his body already too sensitive and craving, needing to be satisfied, caring of the world no more.

 

So Mingyu did, he prepared and stretched, sending Minghao gasping and squirming, the other hand tugging on black hair, ghosting along forehead and nape and teasing the defined yet skinny chest. “I love you.” The final words was said just as Mingyu rammed himself in, tearing apart the last of his own consciousness, planning to send them both to extremes. And Minghao tipped over the edge then, his voice strained with so many callings of Mingyu’s name, so contrasting of the leading, teasing, calming image, of all the fabricated Minghaos, adorned for the world, for the clan, for people to see. It was just Minghao just like it was just Mingyu, lost in the moment, in pleasure, shredding away whatever masks they kept up, forgetting about reality for just fragments of time.

 

.

When they both cleaned up the mess they have caused, staining the leather of the couch, bruises all over skins, Mingyu couldn’t help but kiss the crown of sweat on Minghao’s forehead, after brushing back dampened bangs, the other were beautiful then, so very ultimately Mingyu’s, pleasured and tired, giving a weak smile back, a smile that Mingyu knows nobody else had and nobody else would be able to see.

 

(Wiping down their bodies, well spent and used and later curling up on each other and sharing heat, Mingyu wished for the moment to last, not necessarily forever, just for more time. And briefly like a brush of wind, he wondered if Minghao had ever wished for the same.)

 

Under the soft lights and on the silks of the bed, Mingyu dozed off, Minghao’s back against his chest, the smaller body entwined in his hands. The night was long yet the moment incredibly short, yet he hoped it would stay anyways, before slipping off to the land of dreams.

 

( _Dreams don’t last. Nightmares do._ )

 

.

/

.

.

.

|

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh well i hate this chapter.....  
> Also the ratings increase because, ya know....


	5. Chapter 5

24.

Wishful thinking, Mingyu thought as he stared Jisoo down, chained and beaten up in his own personal cell, blood on the corner of his mouth, on the tips of his fingers, staining all over once polished clothes.

 

“I know it was not you.” He said, wondering why it was that Jisoo was there instead of himself, when the gears were already turning for his own house to act, and soon it would be over, Jisoo or what-not.

 

The other just laughed, softly because Jisoo stayed a true gentleman even among blood stains, his voice stung with irony, hands too weak to form any sort of gesture at the true traitor.

 

“Aren’t you glad that it was me instead of you?”

 

No response, of course, Mingyu didn’t like to taste the bile of spreading lies.

 

“Worry not, I figured by process of elimination, and the fact that you are here, of course.” The other continued, chuckling at himself, calm with a whirlwind of madness, not surprising nor scaring Mingyu because who would he even tell?

 

So confidently, Mingyu walked out of the cell, gazing over Jisoo who had lost in the battle, a victory handed to Mingyu by somebody else. But Jisoo continued, voice free of malice or any emotions at all, and yet it striked heavily within Mingyu, deeply and strongly.

 

“You are going to destroy him.”

(And that was the truth, no matter how different he liked to believe, how much he wanted things to stray, destroying Minghao was exactly what Mingyu was going to do.)

 

(On that very night, he received Seokmin’s words, indicating it was time.)

 

* * *

 

0.

 

 

 

“Gyu?” Seokmin’s voice frazzled over the line.

 

“Yea?” Mingyu said, impatiently, having just been in the middle of picking up the palette and chugging paint at Minghao, on the other side of the room, who was snickering after making Mingyu pose for hours in incredulously ridiculous poses, only to draw the patterns of Mingyu’s shirts.

 

“What have you done?” The exasperation in Seokmin’s voice confused Mingyu to the point he almost looked down at the dripping paint on his fingers, before brushing the thought off because as if Seokmin could know, telepathetic tendencies and all.

 

Minghao’s snickers continued to flicker through the room like a growing menace, Mingyu was really getting impatient.

 

“Nothing?” _Get to it already, Seokmin_ , Mingyu thought, his hand tightening around the damn coloring board.

 

“Zhennan is in Seoul, and he requested to meet you.”

 

The paint continued to drip, and at Minghao’s silence because he must have known something wasn’t right by then, Mingyu said sorry and walked out, not even bothering to close the door since he knew Minghao couldn’t have chased after, hissing under his breath as Seokmin’s voice continued to filter through, catching words like “Punch”, “Wonwoo”, and of course, “Xu Minghao”

 

/

.

 

.

* * *

 

 

Out of the various paintings that were accumulating in Mingyu’s room (that Minghao claimed as his now), Mingyu loved “Rain Star” and despised “My I”, knowing that the latter, vague and plain and black-and-white as it was, was somewhat about Jun.

 

He had been there when Minghao painted the former, an abstract painting indicating the night sky,  though the process consisted of less of making actual lines than splashes of colors. The finishing touch, after the canvas had been filled with midnight blues and drizzles of white paint, was a thick stroke of white that bled down over the canvas, simple yet as mesmerizing as the night sky they were under, albeit there were no actual shower of stars.

 

“Make a wish.” Minghao had whispered then, at the clear sky bare of stars. His stained fingers were brushing hair behind the ears, leaving behind a trail of white paint on translucent skin, his eyes the brightest since he had been here, in the chilly air, on this balcony that barely hangs off the grassy ground.

 

“There isn’t any star.” Mingyu had whispered back, his hand finding its way to the stain on Minghao’s ear, rubbing it off, until the tips reddened.

 

“And I just created some.”

Minghao said as he laced together fingers in front of the drying paint, head turning away from Mingyu’s brush, tilting down, bangs falling over closed eyes and lips slightly parted, forming silent words Mingyu never hear.

 

(Minghao of years ago also did this, under an actual star shower, after a night at the dancefloor, one of feeling like he belonged. His fingers were also crossed, a crown of sweat on the forehead and his entire body crouching down so much short bangs tickled closed eyelids, looking small and lonely despite being just out of a noisy club and touching bodies.

 

Minghao then had sent prayers to the stars despite being everything but a believer, allowing a bit of childish magic for wishful selfish needs.

 

Let us be together.

Let us be well.

Let us be forgiven.)

 

(Maybe that’s why it had gone all wrong, you were not supposed to say your wishes out loud, for soon after Mingyu had trampled all over Minghao’s fragile “us” and tore it apart. In the end the “us” left were just fragments of Mingyu and Minghao, and maybe that’s why Minghao is silent this time, still clinging onto magic, sending prayers to a being that is not supposed to bless the likes of them.)

 

And yet for this moment alone, it is just artist Minghao with paint all over his art apron, loosely tied, and on his face and fingers, several canvas and racks lying around haphazardly on the balcony and in the room, the dirtied brushes lying limply on the wooden tray filled with paint, tips wetted. It is just Mingyu kissing the other’s forehead through thick bangs, hands clasping over Minghao’s crossed fingers, wishing for himself to be the one that would make whatever Minghao said came true in the place of the stars.

 

And of course, the foreseen disaster happened, Minghao’s echoing laughter when Mingyu had inevitably, stupidly grabbed the glass of paint water instead of his own drinking mug. Everything sounding like could-haves from another life of an alternate them.

 

.

.

 

* * *

 

/

“Eh, you did not bring Minghao? Samuel is going to be really disappointed.” Zhennan stated, his scowl letting out wry annoyance.

 

Mingyu knew this was all a test, so by their rules he abided, even though he found it weird that Samuel was mentioned, walking into this noisy restaurant per Zhennan’s request, leaving the guards outside but ready, curious to exactly what the other wanted, (he had chosen to have the meeting on Mingyu’s territory, in plain daylight where a word spoken too loud would turn into daily gossips, that odd one)

 

“He has been dead for a year, Zhennan, or did you expect me to bring along his stale corpse?” Mingyu replied nonchalantly.

 

“Wouldn’t put that pass you. You probably cremated him and put his ash in your accessories being the creep that you are.” Zhennan said, pointing at the menu, turning it towards the nodding waiter before sliding it off to Mingyu’s side.

 

Mingyu snickered, flipping over the flimsy laminated paper before nodding at the waiter to reaffirm his order. He was not particularly fond of being known as an ash-wearing creep to whatever kitchen-room gossip, however, so he added:

 

“I’m not exactly into all the creepy dead stuffs.” Then his voice dropped, this time low so that nobody could hear, “Thought you guys probably did a proper burial with his body I have left behind.” (Plural, just to let the other know he was not playing his cards blind.)

 

Mingyu could hear Zhennan tapping, ever the petulant child that he was, the look he projected to the world calm but not completely hiding the turmoil inside.

 

“Have you heard of Punch, Mingyu?” He started, and Mingyu listened, closely because they were finally skipping the idle talk and getting into whatever this meeting (could he even call this a meeting?) was on.

 

“Considering how he is delving into dead-ends, I have, an interesting fellow that you have taken in?” (Spit out the Wonwoo card, Zhennan, only the young and green like mind games.)

 

Zhennan snickered, and at the same time the food had arrived, all the simple homey stuffs, Chinese dishes that Mingyu questioned why the hell the other ordered here when he had just flown over from that exact same place. One double-take at the table and he saw, the stir-fried and guiltily hot spices Mingyu had enjoyed perhaps a bit too much on the days someone had home cravings in the past, herbal tea that tasted nothing but bitter, yet that particular someone had downed it way too willingly in the claim to protect his health only to have Mingyu call him old. Ah, he saw what game they were playing at.

 

“I guess you are familiar with Liaoning cuisine, enough to recognize them in a heartbeat?” Zhennan claimed, and continued at Mingyu’s silence. “I see the rumors were true.”

 

.

(There was something whispered in the dark, gossips that were also information in this world of them: the one to wreck the Korean branch of the Xu-Wen were Kim Mingyu, second-in-command to that Lee clan that resurrected a couple of years ago, watch out for them. Some variations also stated, aside from Kim Mingyu’s role as a bodyguard, checking in the database, he also played as the heir’s lover, doubled as a honey trap, biting down the owner when the time is due. Just regular feats in their world, people being dead, traitors, traps that shut down one and then another more.)

 

But there was also a claim that Mingyu then knew the other had heard of, and would most probably knew it was true by then: that the love was as real as it was a ploy, that Kim Mingyu fell in love and shot down his own lover, sickeningly cruel but not exactly uncommon, except that Mingyu knew the rumor hadn’t been the end of whatever this was.

/

.

.

“Would you like to meet Punch? Seems that you guys have at least one thing in common already.” Zhennan dropped, the food untouched, leaning in slightly but uncharacteristically enough for Mingyu to see.

 

“Does my preferences matter when you have obviously planned all of this?” Mingyu snickered, holding on to his own ammo, it seemed that he and Wonwoo was going to have a little early reunion, nothing too much to handle on his own.

 

“For you guys to have your sweet privacy, I’m leaving,” Zhennan took a break, tapping his chin before adding “just so you know, the relationship between our clans are fine. Punch is working on his own terms, and I’m just helping out a friend on some resources.”

 

He left, waving goodbye before exchanging words with someone at the door, the statement somewhat confusing until Mingyu saw “Punch” in all his familiarity, indifferent faces, now more sharp around the edges, probably wanting to shoot Mingyu down at that very particular moment.

 

At the door stood Kim Samuel.

.

.

 

* * *

 

/

.

(The trip back was long, insane, just long.)

 

The food tasted like bile in his mouth, without the once-usual company and under Samuel’s eyes of disdain. (So different from Jeonghan who had known nothing, from Seokmin who had nothing but  infuriating pity, from Zhennan’s indifference.) Samuel who had known and witnessed and seen, Samuel who adored Soonyoung despite everything. Samuel who were to Minghao like _Jun_ must had been. And Mingyu could already feel dirty, murky feelings resurfacing, those that came and flooded and dragged Mingyu’s finger onto the trigger and pulled, driving a bullet straight into Jun’s forehead, the other falling down like a limp doll. Samuel, Xu Minghao’s _adoptive brother_ and now the Chinese branch heir after Mingyu had killed Jun. Samuel who wanted Minghao back, paid the debts for Jun, and _last warning, don’t let us resort to war,_ his words fell like a foolish impatient youngster.

 

(Empty threats.)

 

.

(If Zhennan was allowing his resources, if the feud of last year stayed, if Wonwoo still hadn’t shown himself and if Samuel chose an alias in the first place, he must not be allowed here, stomping on blind leads. Minghao was still dead, the China branch wouldn’t simply lend their dirty hands on a quest to nothing. He had got nothing but the allowed resources in his hands.)

 

He gave Seokmin a call, _nothing to worry, situation all under control_ , leaving behind the supposed take-away because _none in our house appreciate Chinese food as much as you do, Samuel-ah_ , perfect cover, perfect alibi, no cracks on the mask he is adorning.

 

(He caught a glimpse of the back of a curly head that must have been Wonwoo on the way out, and had to hold back a barking laugh.)

(Xu Minghao is dead. He planned to keep it that way.)

 

.

/

 

“I smell food.”

 

Minghao was still painting by the time Mingyu had found him, angry splashes of magenta and teal and yellow against a pitch black screen. The smell of Dongbei was familiar to him, even if said hometown had been left behind since a long time ago, when his family started up the “business” in Seoul. That, Mingyu knew because they had been right there, escaping the nights in quiet alley vendors, to Chinese restaurants that specialized in Dongbei (and sometimes, even specifically Liaoning) cuisine, when Minghao insisted on showing him the wonders of Chinese food. Less spicy, a tad bit sweeter, lessen on the oil, Minghao had said, in between bites, you gotta dip that in the soy sauce, idiot. Isn’t this nice, he had asked every time, much better from the hot stuffs Jun always insisted on trying, he had snickered.

 

There was no take-aways, useless for a dead man, so Mingyu came and sagged himself down to Minghao, dug his head in between the shoulder blade, nuzzled in Minghao’s scent. The smell of the food still hung in the air, and he could tell that Minghao knew, the other’s hand raising up to pat the nape of Mingyu’s head, giving some ruffles, soft, tender, hesitant. No words were exchanged as the paint dried out, and Mingyu looked up when Minghao’s hand stopped, only to find his own cheeks a little wet, though for what he had not known. His mouth moved before the brain filter, ever so useless against Minghao, started.

 

“I met Samuel today.”

 

Silence, Minghao only continued on cleaning the brushes.

 

“Do you want to see him again?”

 

The sound of the water stopped, and whilst wiping the tips on a napkin whereas the remaining drips of colors blended into a dirty brown, Minghao never looked up, his voice hollow, letting out a crack that was unusual even to Mingyu’s ears.

 

“I’m better off where I am.” He said, eventually, heavy like pindrops.

 

(I’m better off dead.

Unsaid yet blank, clear, plain as day.)

 

/

.

 

.

 

* * *

 

24.

It started with a messed up brake, several gunshots, a sunken cargo. Two casualties (how Minghao struggled but managed not to cry), the lost goods very much a big deal to handle, costed an arm and a leg (but Minghao pulled them through).

Their partner ended up dead in their bar. Hansol spitted out the sip of the drink he had just taken since the taste had been weird, the smell a tad bit off. He was then rushed to the medics and rendered unfit to work due to poisoning. The car that Mingyu and Jun was in smelt like smoke and the lock was broken. Jun kicking out the glass windows, Mingyu dragging him out just a nick of time before it had gone up in fire.

 

Wonwoo’s angry curses, the way he still could not get things out of Jisoo’s mouth (not that he knew anything) because they found him dead in the dungeons. How Minghao stayed awake for countless nights, how Mingyu coaxed him out of it, how another poisoning case broke even with preventative measures and it wasn’t even Mingyu’s doing this time.

 

 _It would be fine,_ Mingyu lied through his teeth, _you are going to pull through it like you have always done_ , he had whispered, as if he wasn’t going to be the one to bring all of Minghao’s effort down into ruins. Jun had been lingering around way too much for the stressful days, and so Mingyu humored him, both having many things to say yet decided to opt for the trivials, those unimportant: talking about the messed-up car, the situation that both of them knew in and out. They left behind a sleeping Minghao, worn out with messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, ruffled and very much unlike the posh, polished king he was.

 

(Jun whispering in hushed Cantonese with a weird tongue, in a secret tunnel, the words falling off of Mingyu’s ears, all in that unfamiliar language. And yet somehow Mingyu felt as if he had understood everything, of who Jun was selling out, of what Jun had done and would do.)

 

On the day Mingyu tracked down the last of the Xu’s trap doors and escape routes and encrypted it, he put all the data to a microchip, stuck it on the heel of his shoes, calculated the time for it to fall off, right where Seokmin’s men could smoothly, naturally sweep it up, he knew that everything had started, that everything Minghao held dear was going to be destroyed. The reports on the locations of the deals from the month before was spreaded (albeit some must have been changed by then, caution had always been the best quality to have as who they were) to the rival gangs, a virus blown up in Wonwoo’s gear and resorting him to back-up equipments instead of his trusty ones; Minghao pulling his hair out in frustration, letting his long-time unused Mandarin slip, ordering so many searches to find out who was wrecking things inside out and upside down, glared at the missing results. Mingyu still kissed him, still let Minghao melted into his mouth, the taste on his lips sweet but bittered from all the lies he had spoken, from the eventual betrayal he would commit.

 

It was alright though, he convinced himself, they all have their own little secrets, him, Minghao, Jun.

 

So Mingyu leaned in, deep and deeper, got himself lost in that moment, his hand forcing Minghao to stay in place, half-afraid that this would be the last time for them to know each other as what they were then.

 

..

.

|

 

(What do you mean by _they won’t send us any support, ge?_ )

 

(Jun bit his lips, raw and bloody, Wonwoo blanched in surprise at that exclamation Minghao made. Hansol still needed an IV drip and a mask to go on, the poison tricky, planned to kill.)

 

.

.

 

The first shot took place in the depth of the night: the West building went up in fire. Exploded, dusty, the walls crumbling to dust, smoke heavy and lethal to breathe in and choking up throats. People never did evacuate, the drugs laced in the drips too effective, too strong (Seokmin had surely gone all out for this operation). And even at Minghao’s tightening grip and while he ordered and ordered, choked words out at frantic runs and trying to reorganize the mess that were the remaining men, Mingyu never heard a mention about Hansol in the medical ward, in the building that couldn’t even be called anything but ash anymore.

 

(Minghao leading his men to the dead-ends, to routes already mapped out and carefully relayed to Seokmin time and time again, Wonwoo collecting all the information, the alias, the connections, Jun shooting off hidden men, collected, quick-paced, even with running-out bullets, fine like he always had been.

 

He stayed with Jun for covers, just enough so that Minghao and Wonwoo could get _something_ in this locked room, probably to aid in their eventual escape in this route, unfamiliar despite Mingyu having been here for years.

 

At the last of the bullets and also for then the last of men, Jun looked towards Mingyu, blank and casual, walking in the opposite direction of where Minghao and Wonwoo had disappeared to, dropped his voice.

 

“They are not far.” Then, finally addressing their statuses, the truth, their hands in the crumbled empire. “I need to talk to you, Mingyu, second-in-command?”

 

Wonwoo and Minghao were going to come back, Mingyu thought. But it really hadn’t mattered then.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

0.

He took Minghao out, the first time in forever, together on a fake-registered ship that headed towards an island far off-shore. They rode in the back of a mini van, Mingyu worrying about how Minghao had to fold back his legs, travelled in an old truck filled with itchy hay. The truck was then left abandoned to the side of a shitty dirt track, Mingyu pulling Minghao through the wide field, one step at a time, clearing the footsteps with tampering sticks and letting the impending rain do the rest. They eventually reached a hidden port, finally got on the ship that sailed out at sea.

 

 _Just for a while, get yourself low, be somebody else_ , Seokmin had said, the Samuel matter was relatively easy to handle if they could just spread enough information to the higher-ups, he had called. Just so the China headquarter will pull him back, no harm done. They still could not ignore the “meager resources” Zhenna had allowed, however, so that was why it was Mingyu and Minghao in god-knows-where, the air salty, sand wet, the span of view just spanless sea and fields.

 

(Minghao had always been fond of the sea.)

.  
/  
.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? (ALSO thats 2 chapters in a row since i like to think chapter 4 doesnt exist)  
> next we will have minghao's side!!!


	6. Chapter 6

“Minghao.” Silence, then a shake, a nudge, more calls. “Minghao!”

 

Alright, he is an early bird, he wakes at the crack of dawn, completely not a lazy-ass that sleeps until noon and skips out on breakfast or something! But it is like, what, four in the morning in the middle of the fucking winter, which honestly shouldn’t even be called _morning_ at all because it’s, what, _four_. It’s freezing, they are in a room across the beach where the winds blows, harshly, chilly, and there maybe also fucking snow. And the sky is like, what, _pitch black_ at the moment. Way too early, Kim Mingyu can, like, fuck off. Minghao thinks, snuggles more into the fluffy blanket, a hand raising to jab ( _hard_ ) at the source of that stupid wake-up call, in the waist, right at the tickling spot that he _knows_ jolts Mingyu (the idiot) the fuck up. Hope that express his unwillingness to wake clearly enough, so Mingyu can like, shut up for real and leave him the fuck alone.

 

A screech echoes throughout the room. That sure hurts huh, Minghao snickers, eyes still closed. Mingyu deserves that, kinda, the nerves of that dumbass, slumber intruder, sleep wrecker, disturber of beautiful, beautiful nap at _four_ - _fucking-a.m_.

 

“Yongpalie.”

 

Fine. Seriously. He used the ‘nickname’. Smart move, manipulative ass. Dear Stubborn Asshole by the name of Kim Mingyu (with capitals!), sleep is now officially cancelled.

Fine, Minghao grudgingly thinks as he wakes, ruffles his nest of hair and glares the fuck up at aforementioned sleep intruder, who is looking unfairly nice in a sleek, black jacket even though it is ass degree outside.

 

“What.” He hisses at Mingyu, himself still in a blanket cocoon, legs extremely sore because of the wet and cold weather. It has dragged on for the entire month they have been here, the chills biting deep into aching bones.

 

“You were dreaming.”   

  
Oh, was he? The sea must have reminded him of stardust again.

.

.

 

* * *

 

Shanghai was an odd place, way too cold even in fall, the sea white and misty and murky. It was even odder to see that Hoshi had been there, a place very much not him: grey skies, the buzz of the city, ablazing lights from gassy urban areas that cancels out sparkles of stars.

 

So when Minghao ran into Hoshi on the port, gazing at seagulls, probably engaged in the old habitual self-proclaimed “animal telepathic ability” that he had taken so much pride in then, he was at a loss of words to be spoken, despite the many many times he had reviewed the exact speech, rolled his tongue, practiced the tone to be used. Yet nothing came out when the figure appeared in front of him, back straight, head raised high. Not even the lingering question of ‘Why’, of ‘How have you been’ and what’s not. Just silence and more silence: Hoshi’s grin, the same cheekiness as so many years before, his smile that went over disappearing eyes, muddy shoes, calloused hands.  
  
(Minghao was not angry, not really, never have been, confused, yes, maybe. Unlike Chan.)

He returned the charm to Hoshi that day, never did let out any important words (and feelings, gratitude, myriads more). Hoshi felt warm, peaceful. His hugs still the softest, yet most intense with never ending energy, even with the dust of Shanghai on his garments and ruffled feathers on the base of the worn-out hood of his jacket. Hoshi wishing Minghao a kind of happiness he never thought he deserved, the way Hoshi’s hand felt as good going in circles on Minghao’s back like it had always been.

 

Then he reached Seoul again, saw Samuel, re-meeting Chan. The Hoshi of Shanghai flashed in stark contrast against the Kwon Soonyoung of Seoul in Chan, and Minghao sincerely hoped whatever Hoshi had was worth it, in exchange for this kind of bubbly feelings in front of them (even if a bit jumbled in frayed ends), in front of smiling Samuel and hissy Chan, in front of Jun who curled over in laughter every time he succeeded in his teasing fits. And in front of awestruck Mingyu on that sunny afternoon where Minghao was sweaty after the duel with Samuel and a grin broke out on his face because Mingyu looked so so very dumb.

 

(The sky was so blue that day, Minghao wondered if Hoshi regretted this hue of the sky too.)

.

 

This sea was actually blue, not murky, the water crystal clear, the bank sandy and filled with reeds.  They must have felt itchy to the toes of bare-footed Mingyu, who were supporting the slow drags of Minghao’s limp legs, gentle, supportive, looking like a scene ripped off from those pixie romance novels - the heroine coaxing her fated other out of their shelves, mothering their disabilities, happy in that pity slash protection love. (Minghao’s most hated genre.) Ironically, there was also the daunting red gaze of dusk, the lightings too cinematic, too entirely _perfect,_ until the pain in Minghao’s knees (where the bullets had been, biting through his flesh, cracking into bones) whispered harsh reminders of reality, where Mingyu had put metal through flesh, wrecked once speedy feet to nothing but tall built walls, rendered them to shackles, freedom to wishful thoughts, to faraway dreams.

 

Minghao had lost track of time, grown tired of monotone replays of actions, words, banters, feelings. Mingyu was so smitten it was sickening. Minghao himself was so smitten at this vivid illusion they both had hands in creating, it sent nasty vomit to the back of his throat.

Stupid, Minghao thought of deluded Mingyu, his blinding belief in this illusion of gross domesticity. Disgusting, Minghao thought during the meager moments where he started to believe in it himself, even when he was the one that had brought this upon them. For there was no fun in fooling someone that needed no lies to believe in the very first place.

 

(The bile came in waves, dried, felt stacky against the corners of Minghao’s mouth. Homemade dishes tasted like ash, tender meat felt gagging when he tried to swallow. Minghao’s stomach pulsing as he choked out all of its contents, his throat burning, dirty bits of what used to be hot and tasty and flavorful splattered against the white glare of the bathroom. Disgusting. _Disgusting._ )

 

 

 

* * *

 

.

16.

“Don’t be like me.” Jun had once said. The water from the drizzle patting against his face and his black suit, leather shoes digging against wet soil. The shovel laid on his side, dirt piled but flattened, scattered chrysanthemum petals laid in between torn grass.

 

Don’t be like me who ruined his own chance at happiness, don’t be like me who had lost himself, who had nothing left but lived as a shell because of you, Minghao, Jun did not say. “Don’t be like me”, Jun had whispered, his head buried in the fabrics of Minghao’s suit, the material dampening under the rain and also others. Minghao had put his hand on Jun’s back, moved it in circles, hoping it would sooth Jun the same way it soothed Minghao whenever Jun did the same. Until the shaking stop and they are no longer in front of wet soil but in front of concrete and wood and blood, splattered all over, murky, sickening, familiar.

 

It was also the last time Minghao saw Jun cried.

.

|

.

 

 

* * *

 

0.

Being like Jun was all Minghao knew, however. Being like Jun was the staple, except he, Xu Minghao had to be even stronger. Mingyu had been fun, had been flustered, been scornful, been continuously snickering. Mingyu had been easy to tease, clumsy in life but held a gun with conviction and precision. Mingyu had felt like a break from the world, like the hue of the blue sky of one particular sunny afternoon.

 

Mingyu who broke down Minghao’s walls when he was bleeding, dying, barely breathing. Mingyu who stole both of their breaths, fervently, tenderly, slowly, heatedly. Mingyu who looked pretty, awestruck under the moonlight, Mingyu who whispered “Yongpal” against Minghao’s skin with a teasing edge.

 

Mingyu who was unfamiliar, who despite everything, Minghao never trusted. Mingyu who gained Jun’s favor too soon, too early. Mingyu who couldn’t have been the sole cause to it, Mingyu who never gained enough to shoot it all down. Mingyu who did not kill him, who turned towards Minghao in the dark, gun still cocked, Jun’s blood all over the ground, eyes blank.

 

.

Mingyu who Minghao pulled for kisses after kisses on a sandy beach, in the field of hay, under the covers on a chilly day. Childish banters like time had turned, insults thrown around incessantly, laughters, Mingyu’s smiles that show his gleaming eyes and pretty stupid canines. His skin glowing gold under the light of dawn, his hands fumbling in the kitchen, mistaking sugar for salt, dropping saucepans, tripping over air. Minghao’s stomach churned, his giggle came out loudly, and there Mingyu was, flashing a smile as bright as the setting sun.

.

 

That night he flicked blue paint at Mingyu, splattered red on a canvas of jaded blue. The hay was pretty in front of the seaside road, he said, patting the brushes against the paint water for colors to drip along the edges, so that Mingyu wouldn’t mess up again.

.

“Let me do it.” Minghao sighed, exasperated at the way Mingyu got paint on his finger while moving the canvas out to dry, ruining the texture, knocking over the wooden stand. The wheels crunched heavily against the floor and Minghao’s hand stretched over, his body tipping, struggling to balance.

 

He gritted his teeth when Mingyu frantically reached out for support.

.

 

* * *

 

 

“Let me do it.” Minghao said several days later, among the reeds, in midst of blue. The past flashed in crystal clarity: the broken brake in the car of his parents, Hansol’s gummy smile from what felt like ages ago, Wonwoo and Jun’s bad jokes that resulted in awkward silence and nervous laughs and confused stares, Jisoo’s teases in a dimmed tattoo shop when needles were against Minghao’s skin, and Jun.

 

 _I am going to ruin him_ , Minghao didn’t say, but the one under Mingyu understood, _I am going to break him more than any kind of pain you could possibly induce on him_.

 

“Wonwoo, you should go back with Samuel”, was what Minghao did say, picking up the gun that was slided over to his feet, watching as Mingyu hastily let go of the chokehold on the other, scrambling up, looking at Minghao with wild eyes.

 

“Go”, Minghao said, cocking the gun as he watched Wonwoo retreated, locking his eyes with Mingyu’s.

 

“I will take it from here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first (and last) chapter that is in Minghao's POV, which is kind of fun for me to write? Since it was, much newer and before I wrote it i never really thought about Minghao's inner thought (at all lol)
> 
> you see minghao's analogue about meeting hoshi in shanghai? it is going to be written in hoshi's POV in the 2nd work of this series!!!


	7. the end.

24.

“We share similar goals”, Jun said, calmly despite the chaos ongoing outside.

 

“Despite the fact that he didn’t seem like it, Minghao had never suited this kind of life. He was too kind, too vulnerable with his heart when you get to it, you know?”

 

Mingyu hadn’t. It was something that he had always hated about Jun. Something he despised, the clutches Jun always had on Minghao’s heart.

 

“Take him away. I will make sure that you guys can escape, can never have anything on your back.” Jun had sounded so sure like he had always been, knowing too much, having this kind of power over people because he could always read their wants and needs and how desperate those are. It was what made Jun dangerous, what made Jun cunning, what allowed him to be both the right-hand to Minghao then and yet the to-be prince of the China branch.  And yet, Jun had been wrong.

 

In another universe, maybe, Mingyu and Minghao would have accepted the offer, leaving their lives behind, taking some losses, coping with them, letting their heart take over the matter. In this universe, Mingyu would still take it, craved for it, get riddance of his responsibility, be selfish, felt guilty for inconveniencing Seokmin, sent him a postcard without a return address once every couple of years. Like Jun had planned, like the puppet following guidelines and orders the way he had always been. Except he would have been the one to do it, not Jun, the one who to take down this empire himself, the one that wormed his way into Minghao himself, the one to cut off later ties, to decide the path to be taken, to freely gather the other and run and whatever, whatever Minghao, getting splattered with paint, roped into drinking. Except Minghao wouldn’t accept. Except he knew where he was in the hierarchy of Minghao’s heart.

 

Jun had always been a puppeteer, knowing the course, turning people towards an intended track. Mingyu had always been a puppet, swearing revenge on parents he hadn’t known, letting himself be pulled and used, embracing a purpose that never mattered but apparently did.

 

“Take it.” Jun said, shoving a key card into Mingyu’s palm, before turning away freely and surely because of course Mingyu would take it, mindlessly, because of course Jun knew him.

 

Perfect Junhui that planned it all out, that loved Minghao so much he prepared everything all for him, who Minghao loved back as a close-knit brother, who Minghao trusted more than anyone, more than Mingyu, more than himself.

 

So Mingyu allowed himself to be selfish, to tug himself out of the strings that Jun used to pull him towards a supposed perfect end, gun raised. Swift and short, probably the only time someone like Jun had been taken by surprise, a bullet struck, red splattered, clinged to the hard soil and the fabrics on Jun’s chest.

 

Jun fell. It was short and ugly and not at all dramatic. No more control, no more pre-told end. No more feeling like a pawn in a sick chess game. In the distance Mingyu heard the footsteps that he knew for sure were Wonwoo’s and Minghao’s, and also knew for sure Seokmin would have found Mingyu’s clues, heading towards here.

 

Minghao would hate him, but perhaps that was the way for him to be engraved as deep as Jun was in Minghao’s heart.

 

 

 

Later, Wen Junhui burned along with everything else.

.

|

.

|.

/

 

* * *

0.

That day Mingyu received Seokmin’s call, _Everything’s dealt with_ , he said. Jeonghan snorted on the other side, claiming they were too hasty, too immature, had nothing on the Lee when that China headquater pulled them back. They surrounded Wonwoo, apparently, not in control of that branch and enraged, _would catch him soon, you should probably started to pack and come back to the modern world_ , he said.

 

“How’s Minghao?” asked Seokmin, careful in his endless attempt to mend non-broken things.

 

Minghao was staring out of the window, towards the clear sky that they couldn’t have had back at Jeonghan and Seokmin’s miles away, where there were actual stars instead of Minghao’s impromptu painting for prayers. Mingyu briefly thought about what-ifs, a life here, knew that was futile, said fine at the phone.

 

That night, as Mingyu whispered sweet nothings, Minghao pulled him down, let him drown, let him sink in, never saying anything back but _Shut up, more, and Gyu._ He let himself be tangled in a sleeping Minghao, kicked the chair further away from the bed, briefly reached for the gun buried under his side, gestured towards the guards stationed outside, before letting eyelids collapse.

.

 

 

* * *

 

22.

Once, in the vicinity of the Xu family house, them both a bit tipsy under those glasses of wine, Minghao had licked his lips at Mingyu’s attempt to make something Chinese under a drunken stupor, glistening soup with thrown over of whatever taste Minghao could remember. He had giggled against the palm of his hands, asking why Mingyu fell here, in this part of the world, _you needn’t a degree to cook_ , he had said, _you always look as though you are not content with the world._ He remembered telling Minghao it was a choice (it wasn’t), it never occurred to him to leave (it really never did), but I can cook for you, he had said, feeling stupid because Minghao probably never needed that except at odd hours drinking wine.

 

“Do it for yourself, dumbass.” Minghao had said, obviously drunk but holding it back, downing another glass after chugging down that whole bowl of soup with ingredients that probably never made sense.

 

“Why are you such a wimp, Mingyu?” Minghao had said, stumbled at a word, the accent slipping out despite having been on this foreign land since practically forever. Mingyu thought it was endearing, authentic not-perfect Minghao, then again he was also drunk.

 

“Had you ever done anything for yourself?” Minghao went on in his ramble, clearly not yet done, concerned like a mother hen, frowned at the empty glass, beckoning for Mingyu to pour him some more.

 

Mingyu thought about it, the alcohol dampening his mind, made a decision.

 

He leaned over the coffee table, knocked over the wine bottle, ignored the leaking wine as he tangled his fingers in Minghao’s mess of hair and landed his lips on Minghao’s, smiled against their clanks of teeth.

 

It was stupid, messy. Mingyu decided. It was selfish. It was the first time that it wasn’t Minghao pulling Mingyu along his pace. Mingyu loved it. So he did it again and again until Minghao mumbled about the wine staining his floor.

 

.

.

* * *

0.

When Mingyu stopped hearing the distant steps that was supposed to belong to the two guards, he turned and expected, his hands reached for the gun tucked in the pockets. Minghao probably knew by the way he kept silence, yet he continued to push, sauntering towards the sea.

 

Today the snow had halted and the sea is as blue as Minghao’s canvas lain to dry on the veranda, weirdly still wet despite the harsh winds.

 

Mingyu recognized the approaching figure, dark curly hair, slim, slow steps.

 

“Wonwoo”, he called out, guns cocked but not shooting, not when Wonwoo was steps away from Minghao’s side.

 

He shot at the sea, as a warning, a call to attention, Wonwoo was too reckless on this island full of the Lee’s men.

 

“He’s alive”, Wonwoo said, “you are a bad liar”, he continued. Minghao still stayed silent, eye trained towards the sea, clearly drained, tired.

 

“I know you couldn’t have killed him.” Like Jun, of course they always think they know.

 

“You are not going to make it out of this place”, said Mingyu, simply, his eyes on Minghao, on Wonwoo, just steps away. But Minghao wasn’t going to run, he couldn’t, not with ruined legs, not with how Mingyu had made sure they belonged with each other, not with no possibility of an escape, while Wonwoo clearly had no plan.

 

“But you killed Jun, did you not?”

 

In many ways, it felt like a trigger, the way the world had made it so that Mingyu was a pawn, the side character, then became a villain to Jun’s side story. Jun who had Wonwoo by his side, had Minghao’s unmoving faith despite the sickening truth. Jun who chose the ending, pulled the strings, it was all Jun.

 

Wonwoo fired first, towards the bindings of Minghao. “He’s coming back”, he beckoned Mingyu on.

 

(3 minutes. Wonwoo hadn’t come alone. Mingyu did not worry still.)

 

..

.

His men were coming back, albeit with a lowered number, the number that Wonwoo had brought couldn’t have been a lot with the way he sneaked onto here. Wonwoo was overpowered, he was a genius and less of a fighter, Mingyu had locked down one of his hand, avoided a couple of stray bullets, the gun in the other couldn’t have more than one shot left, but it was dangerously close still.

 

“I am going to make you pay”, the one under him hissed, Mingyu’s gun kicked off somewhere in the midst of it all. Just a bit more, Mingyu thought, just a gesture more. The same could have been on Wonwoo’s side when his hand managed to tug out of Mingyu’s hold, his own gun cocked, finger on the trigger, ready to fire. Mingyu’s mind went over the steps, ready to dodge to worse of it, expecting whatever remaining guard to make it in time.

 

He heard a gun fired yet he was still breathing. The shot cleanly hit of Wonwoo’s hold on the gun so ready to kill Mingyu, metal clacked on the hard ground. Wonwoo hissed at the burn and the loss of his weapon, turing towards the source. On Minghao’s hand was Mingyu’s gun.

 

“Let me do it.” Came Minghao’s voice, airy, drained. Minghao who just stopped a bullet from lodging itself in Mingyu’s head, who might have betrayed Wonwoo’s judging by the other’s bewildered face.

 

(Minghao never missed, except that time when the bullet gaze Mingyu’s shoulder instead on his heart, when Jun’s blood stained their shoes.)

 

“I’m staying”, he said, at stilled Wonwoo, at Mingyu who halted the fight, holding himself up.

 

The laugh that came out of Wonwoo felt pained, choked, breathy, his whole body shook on the surface of sand, suddenly too uncaring, didn’t even bother to sit up. Minghao turned towards Mingyu, whispered, “Let him go, I’m staying.”

 

“I will take it from here”, Minghao said, again at Mingyu, “don’t stop him, let him tell them about me.”

.

/

“I’m here forever”, Minghao had said, later when Wonwoo left, “none of them will ever convince me to go”, he reaffirmed, “not Samuel, not Wonwoo, not even Jun if he’s here.”

 

He allowed Mingyu’s fingers to knit into his free ones, into a tightening lock hold, allowed Mingyu to thread along black hair, to peck on his forehead, his nose, to tilt up his chin. He refused when Mingyu went further down, when Mingyu try to take hold of his other hand.

 

It was the Minghao that Mingyu fell in love with, sure but pained, prideful and beautiful and powerful, the voice full of command but not harsh, the gentleness, the way he pull people from doubt to loyalty and respect. Minghao whose hair were being blown by the wind of the sea, Minghao whose eyes gleamed under the sun.  

 

Minghao who would always chose to stay.

 

When Mingyu stopped, feet digging into wet sand, Minghao smiled at him, the two of them alone in front of the wide blue sea. It was still Minghao, his mouth tugged up, his eyes gleaming, ethereal, pretty Minghao. It was still Minghao, but this time he could suddenly see the tired eyes, the dark circles, the look that was so foreign to both past and present Minghao, contented, unlike relentless Minghao, ambitious Minghao, happy Minghao lost in the moment, just a contented Minghao with tired eyes and a smile.

 

 

It was too late for something to click then, because just as Mingyu raised his hand, he was faced with a determined look, something that he would allow himself to get lost in had it not been for the gun still firm in one of Minghao’s hand.

 

When Minghao let go, when Mingyu fold over, the gun was already fixed on its target, the triggered already pulled. Quick as always, never missing as always.

 

Except this time it was not Mingyu on the imaginary viewfinder.

 

Mingyu’s hand found their way towards limp shoulders, Minghao’s head sagged against the back of the wheel chair, hair spreaded and stained like a halo over his head. Minghao never missed, except that time when Jun’s blood was on his feet, on Mingyu’s clothes, and except this time – a bullet hole one centimeter away from a direct headshot, but unlike then, the bullet served its purpose now. Minghao’s smile was still fixed on his face, eyes closed, peaceful and cold unlike the turmoil going on in Mingyu’s head.

 

The chains that held up Mingyu’s world shook, broke, shattered into millions and millions pieces.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deleted too many scenes and it seems rushed as hell... but it's over, i guess.  
> Minghao has and will never forgive Mingyu (and he shouldn't), that's why his aim throughout it all is to make Mingyu suffer in the eventual end, and the best way to do it? Is to make him happy and then ending it all.  
> There is a reason to Jun's doings, a view from Jeonghan and DK side, and various other scenes that i will probably never write but at least it's FINALLY OVER.  
> (Shua? the information broker is S.coups and it was supposed to be JiCheol but well....)  
> (I hope... you enjoyed this?)


End file.
